The  Borzoi  Plays  II 

MOLOCH 

A  play  in  a  Prologue,  three 
acts  and  an  Epilogue  by 


Beulah  Marie 
Dix 


Moloch 


THE  BORZOI  PLAYS 

I    WAR 

By  Michael  Artzibashef 
II    MOLOCH 

By  Beulah  Marie  Dix 

III  MORAL 

By  Ludwig  Thoma 

IV  THE  INSPECTOR-GENERAL 
By  Nicolay  Gogol 


The  Borzoi  Plays  II 


MOLOCH 

A  play  in  a  Prologue,  three 
acts  and  an  Epilogue  by 


Beulah 

Marie 

Dix 


New  York  •  Alfred  A  Knopf- 1916 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF 

THIS"  PLAY.  IN  ITS  PRESENT  PRINTED  FORM,  IS 
DESIGNED  FOR  THE  READING  PUBLIC  ONLY  ALL 
DRAMATIC  RIGHTS  IN  IT  ARE  PROTECTED  BY  COPY- 
RIGHT,  AND  NO  PERFORMANCE  MAY  BE  GIVEN 
WITHOUT  THE  WRITTEN  PERMISSION  OF  THE 
AUTHOR  AND  THE  PAYMENT  OF  ROYALTY. 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


t\ 


KLAW  AND  ERLANGER  A 

IN  ASSOCIATION  WITH  GEORGE  C.  TYLER 
Present 

HOLBROOK  BLINN'S  COMPANY 

in 

MOLOCH 

A    PLAY    ABOUT    WAR 

In  a  Prologue,  Three  Acts  and  an  Epilogue 
BY  BEULAH  M.  DIX 


PEOPLE 


CHARACTERS 


PLAYED  BY 


A  Man 
His  Wife 
His  Son 
His   Mother 
His  Sister 
His  Brother 
His  Uncle 
His  Servant 
His  Friend 
The  Woodsy  Boy 
A  Girl 
Another  Girl 
A  Little  Boy 


Robert  Holbrook  Blinn 

Katherine  Lillian  Albertson 

Roland  Cornish  Beck 

Lydia  Mrs.  Thomas   Whiffen 

Gertrude  Louise  Rutter 

Basil  Creighton  Hale 
The  Professor!*.   Wigney  Percyval 

Martha  Ruth  Benson 

Philip  Paul  Gordon 

Sydney  D.  Carlyle 

Frances  Laura  Iverson 

Margaret  Rosina  Henley 

Thomas  Richard  Dupont 


383526 


A  Major 
An   Ad j  utant 
A  Sergeant 
Another  Sergeant 
A  Soldier 
Another  Soldier 
A  Third  Soldier 
A  Fourth  Soldier 
A  Major 
A   Lieutenant 
A   Corporal 
A  Trooper 
Another  Trooper 
A    Third    Trooper 
A   Fourth   Trooper 


Edwin  Brandt 
PautS.  Bliss 
Jules  A.  Ferrar 

Fellow-         Charles  Rolfe 

Countrymen  A.  P.  Kaye 

A.  H.  Ebenhack 
John  Dupont 
Thomas  Hill 
Redfield   Clarke 
Gareth  Hughes 
Edmund  Breese 

'Foreigners    Dale  Kennedy 

Theodore  C.  Brown 
Harry  Dean 
Vincent  Phillips 


PROLOGUE— Before  the  War.     A  Country  House. 
Interval,  Ten  Days. 

ACT       I— Mobilization.     A  Town  House. 
Interval,  Nine  Months. 

ACT     II— Invasion.     A  Town  House. 
Interval,  Seven  Months. 

ACT  III— Battle.     On  the  Firing  Line. 
Interval,  Eight  Months. 

EPILOGUE— After  the  War.     A  Country  House. 
The  Fruits  of  Victory. 

Play  produced  by  Mr.  Blinn 

The  above,  from  a  program  of  the  New  Amsterdam 
Theatre,  New  York,  shows  the  cast  at  the  first  New 
York  performance  of  this  play,  Monday  evening,  Sep 
tember  20,  1915.  The  play  had  previously  been  pro 
duced  in  Cleveland  and  in  Chicago. 


MOLOCH 


MOLOCH 


PROLOGUE 

The  country-house,  once  a  farmhouse  of  the  better 
sort,  but  now  become  the  residence  of  the  owners  of  the 
estate,  is  a  shabby,  homelike,  livable  place.  The  walls 
of  the  living-room  are  wainscotted  in  warm  brown,  with 
plaster  above,  and  hung  with  sporting  prints  and  pic 
tures  of  battle.  The  ceiling  is  raftered.  At  the  right 
of  the  audience  is  a  big  fireplace,  with  a  trophy  of  arms 
above  it.  On  the  mantel-shelf  are  a  brace  of  old-fash 
ioned  metal  candlesticks,  and  a  fair-sized  loving-cup  of 
silver.  A  low  fire  burns  upon  the  hearth.  At  either 
side  of  the  fireplace  are  doors.  The  one  toward  the  back 
of  the  room  leads  to  a  coat-closet,  the  one  toward  the 
front  to  inner  roomys.  At  the  left  of  the  audience  a  door 
leads  to  the  kitchens,  etc.  At  the  back  a  two-fold  outer 
door  opens  on  a  brick  terrace,  with  a  suggestion  of  gar 
den  lying  below.  Beyond  the  balustrade  of  the  terrace 
you  may  glimpse  springtide  country,  with  fields  under 
cultivation,  fruit-trees  smothered  with  blossoms,  and,  in 
the  distance,  the  tower  of  a  little  church  and  the  roofs  of 
a  peaceful  hamlef.  At  either  side  of  this  main  door  are 
casement  windows.  Those  at  the  left  make  of  that 
ample  corner  of  the  room  a  huge  bow-window,  with 
slightly  raised  floor  and  cushioned  seat.  The  furniture 
is  simple,  massive  and  good:  a  Jacobean  settle,  at  right 
angles  to  the  hearth,  a  chest  beneath  the  windows  at  the 
right,  a  gate-legged  table  at  the  centre,  a  heavy  writing 
table,  well  down  at  the  left,  with  smokers'  stuff,  a  lamp, 

1 


2  Moloch 

a  work-basket,  a  small  stand  in  the  bow-window,  with  a 
bowl  of  gold-fish,  and  the  usual  complement  of  service 
able  and  comfortable  chairs. 

The  season  is  May.     The  time  is  sunset. 

In  the  bow-window,  reading  in  the  late  light,  with 
books  scattered  about  him,  and  the  gold-fish  at  his  elbow, 
sits  the  Professor,  a  scholarly  and  somewhat  opinionated 
gentleman  of  seventy,  with  a  wrinkled,  not  altogether 
unkindly,  face  and  white  hair.  His  sister,  Lydia,  sixty- 
odd,  but  erect  and  spirited,  sits  on  the  settle,  playing 
Patience  at  a  little  table.  She  wears  a  bit  of  fine  lace  by 
way  of  cap,  but  her  gown  of  plum-color  is  never  so  little 
out  of  fashion.  At  the  chest  Katherine  is  arranging 
flowers  in  two  low  bowls,  slowly  and  carefully,  as  one 
who  loves  flowers  and  respects  them.  She  is  perhaps 
thirty,  of  the  type  that,  for  lack  of  better  word,  we  de 
scribe  as  Madonna,  born  to  be  a  mother  to  everything  in 
sight,  but  with  her  goodness  spiced  with  a  saving  sense 
of  humor.  She  wears  a  soft  gray  house-dress.  On  the 
floor  at  the  left  kneels  Roland,  a  paper  soldier-cap  upon 
his  head,  at  play  with  toy  soldiers,  ranged  in  ranks,  and 
a  toy  gun.  He  is  six  or  seven  years  old,  the  sort  of  little 
lad  to  make  any  mother  proud.  He  speaks,  as  the  cur 
tain  rises. 

ROLAND.  Bang!  \Knocks  down  the  toy  soldiers.'] 
See,  Mummy,  our  men  have  killed  all  the  foreigners. 

KATHERINE.     Why  do  you  want  to  kill  them,  son? 

ROLAND.     Because  they're  foreigners. 

KATHERINE.     Roland ! 

LYDIA.  Do  let  the  boy  alone!  You  wouldn't  have 
him  play  with  dolls. 

ROLAND.  I'll  be  the  colonel,  like  my  grandpa  was. 
He  killed  the  nasty  foreigners,  didn't  he,  Mummy  ? 

KATHERINE  [setting  flowers  on  the  centre  table']. 
That  was  ever  so  long  ago.  We  are  at  peace  with  all 
the  world  now.  We  shall  always  be  at  peace. 


Moloch  3 

PROFESSOR.     Have  you  seen  the  newspapers? 

KATHERINE  [setting  flowers  on  the  writing  table'].  Of 
course  I  haven't.  Not  since  day  before  yesterday.  But 
who  cares  for  the  stuff  they  print?  [Sits  by  the  table, 
takes  up  her  sewing.']  Civilized  nations  don't  fight  each 
other. 

[From  the  terrace  come  in  quickly  Gertrude  and  Basil, 
both  in  tramping  clothes.  She  is  in  her  early  twenties, 
impulsive,  passionate,  and  altogether  charming.  He  is 
in  his  late  teens,  with  the  erect  and  masterful  carriage 
that  stamps  him  as  a  military  cadet.  Both  carry  news 
papers.'] 

BASIL.     Hello,  folks !     We've  got  the  papers. 

PROFESSOR  [rising  excitedly'].     Well,  well,  well! 

BASIL  [giving  him  a  newspaper].  Yesterday's.  Best 
we  could  do.  [ Tosses  his  cap  on  the  chest.] 

GERTRUDE.  Clear  to  the  Corner  we  had  to  tramp  to 
get  them.  Of  all  the  luck!  To  be  poked  into  this  dead 
and  alive  place,  a  hundred  miles  from  everywhere,  at 
such  a  time!  [Flings  paper  on  table.] 

LYDIA.     Hush !     Tell  me  if  there's  any  news. 

[Gertrude  hangs  her  coat  and  hat  in  the  closet.] 

BASIL.     I  should  say  there  was  news. 

PROFESSOR  [reading  paper].  Ultimatum!  Well, 
well! 

KATHERINE  [startled,  but  only  for  a  moment].  Ul 
timatum  ! 

PROFESSOR.     Outrageous!     Insolent! 

[Katherine  resumes  her  sewing.] 

BASIL.  They  think  we'll  back  down,  just  because  we 
don't  swagger  about,  armed  to  the  teeth.  Well,  when  it 
comes  to  business,  we'll  show  them  a  thing  or  two. 

PROFESSOR.  Yes.  When  this  great  nation  of  ours  is 
once  roused  — 

BASIL.  Why,  I'd  back  one  of  our  chaps  with  his  bare 
fists  to  do  up  two  of  those  foreign  Johnnies  with  their 
rifles. 


4s  Moloch 

GERTRUDE  [coming  to  the  hearth].  Oh,  for  goodness' 
sake,  talk  sense ! 

PROFESSOR.  I  trust  you  do  not  doubt  the  spirit  and 
courage  of  your  countrymen? 

GERTRUDE.  No.  But  you're  all  making  the  mistake 
of  doubting  the  spirit  and  courage  of  other  people's 
countrymen. 

LYDIA.     Meaning  — 

GERTRUDE.     The  foreigners  are  as  brave  as  we  are. 

BASIL.     Oh,  come  now ! 

GERTRUDE.  If  it  comes  to  war,  they'll  put  up  just  as 
good  a  fight  as  we  will. 

PROFESSOR.  Pshaw!  [Disgusted,  he  retires  into  the 
bow-window  with  his  paper.] 

GERTRUDE.  And  they're  in  condition  to  fight.  They 
have  bigger  guns  than  ours,  explosives  we  don't  even 
know  the  names  of.  Phil  says  — 

BASIL.     Oh,  it's  Phil's  talk  you're  handing  us  out. 

GERTRUDE  [going  up  to  him].  Yes,  and  it's  sensible 
talk,  too. 

BASIL.     Well,  I  must  say  that  I  think  — 

LYDIA.     Children !     Children ! 

[Robert  has  meantime  appeared  in  the  outer  doorway, 
a  likable  chap  of  thirty-odd,  the  best  type,  perhaps,  of 
Land  junker  or  of  country  squire.  He  wears  country 
clothes,  and  evidently  has  come  from  tramping  his 
fields.] 

ROBERT.  Hello !  So  the  war's  broke  out  right  here, 
eh? 

ROLAND  [running  to  him].     Daddy! 

BASIL.     Trudie's  got  to  quoting  Phil. 

GERTRUDE.  And  Basil  is  absurd.  [She  retires  to  the 
window  at  right.] 

LYDIA.     And  your  mother,  I  believe,  is  also  absurd. 

ROBERT.  There,  there!  Of  course  you  are  not. 
Any  mail  come  in? 


Moloch  5 

KATHERINE.  They  haven't  got  that  bridge  mended 
yet. 

BASIL.  They're  still  sending  round  by  the  Corner, 
when  they  send  at  all.  [He  strolls  out  upon  the  terrace, 
where  he  lights  a  cigarette.'] 

ROBERT.  Humph!  Hoped  I'd  get  word  about  that 
new  cultivator.  [Goes  to  the  smoking  table  and  gets  a 
pipe.] 

[Roland  returns  to  his  toys.] 

KATHERINE.     Did  Phil  come  in  with  you? 

ROBERT.  No.  He  stopped  at  the  gamekeeper's. 
Seems  the  baby  is  coming  down  with  whooping  cough  or 
something. 

GERTRUDE.  Did  you  come  round  by  the  ten  acre? 
[Sits  by  table  centre.] 

ROBERT.  Yes.  Ought  to  get  a  second  crop  off  it  this 
season.  You  know,  it  will  play  the  mischief  with  our 
getting  fertilizers,  if  the  fools  should  rush  us  into  war. 

KATHERINE.     Oh,  but  they  won't. 

ROLAND.     Daddy,  will  you  please  mend  my  soldier? 

ROBERT.  Sure  thing !  Been  in  the  thick  of  the  fight, 
hasn't  he?  Get  me  the  glue,  son.  [Sits  by  table  cen- 
tre.} 

KATHERINE.  Here  you  are,  Roland.  [Gives  him  a 
tube  of  glue  from  the  writing  table.'] 

ROLAND.     Thank  you!     Here,  Daddy. 

ROBERT.  Right!  [Mends  soldier,  while  Roland 
leans  against  his  knee.]  Poor  old  chap!  Lost  both 
legs,  hasn't  he  ?  That's  what  your  Uncle  Basil  is  aching 
to  do,  ever  since  he  got  to  be  a  cadet.  Go  out  and  fight 
somebody,  anybody,  and  come  home  in  fragments. 
[Looking  up  at  Basil.]  Eh,  Bub? 

BASIL.  Great  thing  to  sit  and  laugh,  when  your  coun 
try  is  threatened. 

ROBERT.  Oh,  I've  lived  through  two  big  war  scares 
in  my  day.  Mother's  lived  through  half  a  dozen. 


6  Moloch 

LYDIA.     And  through  two  wars,  remember. 

PROFESSOR.  Do  you  realize,  Robert,  that  they  have 
sent  us  an  ultimatum? 

ROBERT.  Ever  watch  two  dogs,  with  a  fence  between 
'em,  tearing  along,  barking,  ready  to  chew  each  other 
up,  till  they  come  to  an  open  gate  and  can  get  at  each 
other?  Then  down  go  their  tails,  and  home  they  go. 
That's  the  way  it  will  be  this  time.  We'll  snarl  at  each 
other  till  it  comes  to  the  point  of  fighting,  and  then  the 
common  sense  of  the  average  citizen  — 

[Roland  goes  back  to  his  toys.'] 

KATHERINE.  That's  what  I  keep  saying.  As  if  peo 
ple  could  fight  nowadays ! 

LYDIA.  Nonsense !  Men  have  always  fought.  They 
always  will  fight.  Doesn't  it  say  in  the  Bible:  "I 
come  not  to  bring  peace,  but  a  sword  "  ? 

KATHERINE.  Yes.  And  doesn't  it  say  also:  "Agree 
with  thine  adversary  "  ? 

PROFESSOR  [rising,  annoyed].  My  dear  ladies,  those 
old  legends  of  Christianity  are  not  at  all  pertinent. 
Now  let  me  tell  you  — 

KATHERINE.  Roland!  Run  fetch  some  bread  for 
Uncle's  gold-fish.  Run!  [Roland  runs  out  at  the  left.] 
Now  I  know  you're  going  to  say  something  barbaric. 

LYDIA.     Barbaric  fiddlesticks !     Just  commonsense. 

PROFESSOR.  Thank  you,  my  dear  sister.  As  I  was 
about  to  say,  if  you  will  read  my  compendium  of  inter 
national  relations  — 

ROBERT  [rising].  We  have!  [Goes  to  closet  and 
gets  string  with  which  he  mends  the  toy.] 

PROFESSOR.  You  will  understand  that  wars  are  the 
outcome  of  great  folk  movements  over  which  individuals 
have  no  control.  As  a  scholar  and  a  philosopher,  then, 
I  must  believe  — 

[Roland  runs  in  again.] 

ROLAND.     Now  may  I  feed  the  gold-fish,  Uncle? 

PROFESSOR.     Yes,    yes.     As    I    was    about    to    say  — 


Moloch  7 

Not  too  fast,  sonny!  Not  too  fast!  There!  Slowly! 
That  way!  I  was  about  to  remark  that  wars  after  all 
work  for  the  good  of  the  race. 

BASIL.     Nothing  like  war  to  put  an  edge  on  a  nation. 

PROFESSOR.  And  not  merely  are  the  martial  virtues 
stimulated,  but  literature  and  learning  revive  and  flour 
ish. 

KATHERINE.     In  a  bloodstained  soil? 

PROFESSOR.  So  many  of  you  dear  women  can  see 
nothing  in  war  but  the  pain  and  suffering  that  are  merely 
incidental. 

LYDIA.     It's  a  sentimental  viewpoint. 

[Roland  in  the  bow-window  takes  up  and  examines  one 
of  his  uncle's  books.'] 

PROFESSOR.  Now  I  solemnly  believe  that  we  are  on 
the  eve  of  conflict. 

ROBERT.  The  folks  that  talk  like  you  are  doing  their 
best  to  get  us  into  one. 

BASIL.     If  they  want  a  fight,  let  'em  have  it,  I  say ! 

GERTRUDE.  Oh,  have  a  chip  on  your  shoulder,  if  you 
must.  But  be  sure  you're  ready  for  the  people  that  will 
try  to  knock  it  off. 

LYDIA.  This  talk  about  being  ready  is  downright 
blasphemous. 

ROBERT.     Quite  a  strong  word,  Mother. 

LYDIA.  Our  country  has  been  victorious  in  every  war 
in  its  history.  Doesn't  that  prove  that  God  is  on  our 
side  ?  And  if  God  is  for  us  — 

[Robert  reseats  himself  at  the  table."] 

PROFESSOR.  National  destiny.  I,  for  one,  believe 
this  war  is  not  only  inevitable,  but  desirable. 

ROLAND  [coming  to  his  motherf  with  an  open  book]. 
O  Mummy!  What's  this  horrid  picture?  He's  eating 
folks  alive. 

KATHERINE.  Let's  see,  son !  [Takes  book.]  "They 
made  their  children  pass  through  the  fire  to  Moloch." 

ROLAND.     Who  was  Moloch,  Mummy? 


8  Moloch 

KATHERINE.  He  was  their  god,  laddie.  They  gave 
him  their  children  to  devour,  and  they  thought  it  was  a 
noble  thing  to  do. 

PROFESSOR.  Sun  worship  merely.  Moloch  is  another 
name  for  Baal. 

KATHERINE.  I  wonder  if  it's  not  another  name  for 
the  god  of  war. 

PROFESSOR.  My  dear  Kate,  your  mythology  is  hope 
lessly  confused.  [Retires  again  to  his  paper.'] 

KATHERINE.  Oh,  I'm  not  talking  mythology.  Just 
sense. 

GERTRUDE.     It's  time  somebody  did. 

ROBERT.     Steady ! 

KATHERINE.  The  god  of  war  —  the  awful  monster 
with  the  flaming  jaws,  and  the  nations  running  joyously 
to  fling  him  their  youngest  and  strongest  and  best. 

LYDIA.     Sentimental  nonsense,  Kate. 

ROLAND.     And  will  Moloch  eat  us,  too,  Mummy? 

KATHERINE  [kissing  him'].  Oh,  no,  no,  dear!  Of 
course  not.  That  was  ever  so  long  ago. 

ROBERT.  And  they  were  just  heathen  that  didn't 
know  any  better.  Not  good  sensible  Christian  people, 
like  ourselves. 

KATHERINE.  There,  dear,  put  the  book  away,  and 
don't  think  any  more  about  it. 

[Roland  replaces  the  book  on  the  window  seat  and 
returns  to  his  toys.~\ 

BASIL.  Believe  I'll  step  down  to  the  village  and  see 
if  they've  done  anything  about  getting  the  mail  across. 
[Gets  cap.]  It  will  be  no  joke  for  me,  if  my  leave's 
been  withdrawn  and  I've  not  got  word. 

PROFESSOR.  Wait  a  moment,  Basil!  You  did  not 
find  the  air  damp,  Robert? 

ROBERT.     Dry  as  one  of  your  lectures,  sir. 

PROFESSOR.     Then,  Basil,  I'll  go  with  you. 

BASIL.     I'll  fetch  your  hat,  sir.      [Goes  to  closet.] 

PROFESSOR.     I,  too,  have  a  barbarous  interest  in  what 


Moloch  9 

is  going  on.  [Taking  hat  from  Basil.]  Thanks,  my 
boy !  Can't  be  too  careful,  you  know.  I  hate  to  lie 
awake  at  night  coughing. 

[Basil  and  the  Professor  go  out  at  the  terrace  door.] 

GERTRUDE.  Uncle  Charles  is  particular  about  his  own 
comfort.  [Rises.]  More  than  he  is  about  the  comfort 
of  the  men  he's  so  eager  to  send  to  do  the  fighting. 
[Goes  to  the  bow-window,  obviously  waiting  and  watch 
ing  for  some  one."] 

ROBERT.  Two  of  a  kind,  Uncle  and  Basil.  And  it's 
the  kind  that  kicks  over  all  our  apple-carts.  Here's 
your  man,  son.  Good  as  new! 

[Roland  puts  away  his  toys.] 

LYDIA.  Basil's  profession  was  your  father's  profes 
sion.  It  would  have  been  yours,  if  you  had  been  phys 
ically  fit. 

ROBERT  [rising].  Yes.  That  astigmatism  in  my  left 
eye  did  me  a  mighty  good  turn,  when  it  kept  me  out  of 
the  army. 

LYDIA.     Robert ! 

ROBERT  [going  to  her].  Well,  well,  Mother,  I  do* 
enough  for  honor  and  glory  when  I  turn  out  once  a  year 
with  a  regiment  of  defensibles.  Rest  of  the  time  I'm 
not  keen  on  being  an  anachronism  in  gold  braid  and  an 
air-tight  helmet.  [Sits  by  table  and  takes  up  news 
paper.] 

[Martha  comes  in  at  the  right,  a  middle-aged  servant, 
kindly  and  commonplace.] 

MARTHA.  If  you  please,  it's  Master  Roland's  bed 
time. 

ROLAND.     I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed. 

MARTHA.  Come,  come,  Master  Roland!  Why,  you'd 
ought  to  see  my  little  niece  Patty  go  when  she's  bid. 

ROLAND.     I  don't  want  to  — 

KATHERINE.     Roland! 

ROLAND.  Well,  will  you  come  hear  me  say  my  pray 
ers,  Mummy? 


10  Moloch 

KATHERINE.     Yes,  dear.     Run  along  now! 

ROLAND.     Good  night,  Aunt  Trudie! 

GERTRUDE  [kitting  him'].     Good  night,  darling. 

ROLAND.  Good  night,  Granny.  I'll  take  my  sword 
into  bed  with  me,  so  you  needn't  be  scared  if  the  enemy 
should  come. 

LYDIA.     Bless  the  boy! 

ROLAND.     Good  night,  Daddy! 

ROBERT.     Good  night,  old  man. 

MARTHA.     Come,  Master  Roland! 

ROLAND.  But  you  won't  need  to  wash  my  hands, 
Martha.  They  were  washed  once  to-day. 

[Roland  and  Martha  go  out  at  the  right,'] 

KATHERINE.  Why,  I  didn't  realize  it  was  his  bed 
time.  [Folds  work.]  Phil  is  a  long  time  at  the  game 
keeper's. 

GERTRUDE.  Rob!  [Goes  to  the  table.]  If  there 
should  be  war  —  what  would  happen  to  Phil? 

ROBERT.  Don't  begin  to  worry.  There  won't  be 
war. 

LYDIA.  Those  foreigners  will  give  way,  when  they 
see  we're  in  earnest.  A  cowardly  lot! 

GERTRUDE.  Phil  isn't  exactly  what  I  should  call  a 
coward.  Cowards  don't  win  races  in  monoplanes  in  a 
high  wind.  [Goes  to  terrace  door.] 

ROBERT.     Where  going,  Trudie? 

GERTRUDE.     Just  across  the  garden. 

LYDIA.     It's  past  sunset. 

GERTRUDE.     I'm  only  going  a  little  step. 

[Gertrude  goes  out.] 

LYDIA.  I  can't  help  thinking  it  would  be  in  better 
taste  just  now  if  Philip  went  back  to  his  own  country. 

ROBERT.  He  happens  to  have  a  year  more  of  work 
at  the  laboratory. 

LYDIA.  Then  let  him  go  back  to  his  old  laboratory, 
instead  of  hanging  round  here,  putting  notions  into  my 
daughter's  head. 


Moloch  11 

KATHERINE.  You  know  his  chief  ordered  him  to  take 
this  fortnight  off.  He  was  getting  a  bit  seedy. 

LYDIA.     You'll  always  make  excuses  for  him. 

ROBERT.     We  owe  him  something,  Mother. 

LYDIA.  He  did  no  more  than  any  physician  is  bound 
to  do. 

KATHERINE.  Look  here,  Mother,  you  weren't 
here,  that  awful  night.  You  didn't  see  Roland 
lying  there,  with  his  poor  little  face  congested, 
fighting  for  every  single  breath,  a  losing  fight,  and 
we,  with  all  our  love,  just  helpless.  And  then  Rob 
brought  Phil  to  me. 

ROBERT.  We  hadn't  been  very  nice  to  that  lot  of 
noisy  young  doctors,  camped  down  by  the  ford,  had  we, 
Kate? 

KATHERINE  [rising].  Why,  half  of  them  were  for 
eigners.  [Goes  to  table.]  Until  that  night,  I  don't 
think  that  I'd  dreamed  that  foreigners  were  quite  the 
same  as  ourselves.  But  when  Phil  came  in  I  —  I  just 
fell  at  his  feet,  as  if  he  had  been  sent  from  God  Him 
self,  praying:  "Save  my  only  one!  Oh,  save  my 
baby!" 

[Robert  rises  and  goes  to  her.] 

LYDIA.     That's  his  business,  isn't  it? 

KATHERINE.  And  when  the  tube  filled  up,  and  we 
thought  it  was  all  over,  Phil  put  his  lips  to  the  tube  and 
drew  out  the  poison  that  was  suffocating  our  boy. 

LYDIA.     Other  doctors  have  done  as  much. 

KATHERINE  [heatedly].  But  Phil  had  cut  his  lip, 
remember!  He  took  a  big  risk,  with  his  eyes  open, 
for  a  stranger's  child  —  for  our  child ! 

ROBERT.     There,  there! 

KATHERINE  [sits  by  table].  Well,  I  shan't  forget 
that,  ever.  [Dries  her  eyes.] 

LYDIA  [rises ,  sets  Patience  table  by  the  hearth]. 
That's  all  very  fine,  but  I  hope  that  Gertrude  won't  make 
a  fool  of  herself  over  the  fellow.  Get  my  shawl,  Rob- 


12  Moloch 

ert!  I'll  take  a  little  step  in  the  garden,  too.  [Goes 
to  door.'] 

[Robert  gets  shawl  from  closet."] 

KATHERINE  [riling].  Now  you  know  it's  getting  a  bit 
damp,  Mother. 

LYDIA.  Fiddlesticks!  If  Charles  can  venture  out, 
I  can.  Always  an  old  Betty  about  his  precious 
health. 

ROBERT.  Here  you  are,  Mother.  [Folds  shawl 
about  her.]  Shall  I  come  with  you? 

LYDIA.  I  don't  need  help  yet  a  while  in  managing  my 
own  children,  thanks! 

[Lydia  goes  out  at  the  terrace  door.] 

ROBERT.     She's  got  her  hands  full,  this  time. 

KATHERINE.     You  mean  — 

ROBERT.     I  know. 

KATHERINE  [going  to  him'].  You  know  that  Phil  and 
Gertrude  are  in  love  with  each  other? 

ROBERT.  He  asked  my  permission  this  afternoon. 
Her  guardian  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

KATHERINE.  Well,  if  they're  only  one  half  as  happy 
as  we've  been  — 

ROBERT  [his  arms  about  her].  Rubbed  along  pretty 
well,  haven't  we,  old  girl? 

KATHERINE.  I  don't  ask  for  better.  There!  Run 
along  after  mother,  do.  Don't  let  her  break  in  on  them 
and  spoil  this  minute.  It  won't  come  again. 

ROBERT.  I  say!  Do  you  remember  the  night  when 
we  first  — 

KATHERINE.  Now  don't  be  foolish.  [Kisses  him.] 
Run! 

[Robert  goes  out.  The  room  is  now  dusky  with  twi 
light.  Katherine  goes  to  the  hearth  and  lights  the  can 
dles  on  the  mantel-shelf.  As  she  is  busied  with  the  sec 
ond  candlet  Phil  comes  quickly  from  the  terrace.  A 
well  built  young  man,  headlong  and  sufficiently  likable. 
He  wears  a  Norfolk  suit  and  a  cap  which  he  tosses  upon 


Moloch  13 

the  chest.  At  the  slight  noise  of  his  entrance  Katherine 
turns.] 

KATHERINE.  O  Phil!  I'm  to  congratulate  you. 
Yes? 

PHIL  [catching  both  her  hands'].  Rob  has  told  you, 
then?  And  I  have  just  this  minute  spoke  with  her. 

KATHERINE.  Nearer  the  stars  than  ever  you  came  in 
your  airship,  aren't  you? 

PHIL,  The  airship?  Oh,  I  give  up  the  flying  now. 
I  am  getting  down  to  work.  To-morrow  I  go  back  to 
the  city. 

KATHERINE.     But  — 

PHIL.  Oh,  yes.  I  am  all  rested.  I  can  see  straight 
what  was  all  thick  before.  You  watch  me  now,  put  it 
through,  for  her  sake. 

KATHERINE  [sitting  on  the  settle"].  Your  research? 
You  never  told  us  much  about  it. 

PHIL.  It  is  too  big  a  thing  almost  to  speak  about. 
[Sits  by  her.]  It  is,  I  think,  almost  I  can  some  day 
put  my  hand  on  how  to  cure  what  we  are  most  afraid  of. 
Living  death,  I  mean.  Death  by  torture.  Cancer. 

KATHERINE.  A-ah!  That  was  how  my  mother  died. 
I  watched  her.  O  Phil!  If  you  can  do  that,  it's  like 
grace  sent  down  from  Heaven. 

PHIL.  I  don't  say  I  can.  I  mean  only,  with  time, 
with  work  —  Lord !  How  I  can  work  now !  Funny ! 
They  used,  you  know,  the  old  chaps,  to  bring  to  the 
women  they  loved  heads  of  their  enemies,  men  they'd 
killed.  To-day  maybe  we  bring  to  a  woman  so  many 
people  saved,  men  and  women  and  little  kiddies,  per 
haps.  That's  a  pretty  worth-while  gift,  eh? 

[Roland  comes  in  from  the  rightt  in  blue  pajamas  and 
slippers.] 

ROLAND.  O  Mummy!  You  never  came  to  hear  my 
prayers. 

KATHERINE.     You  bad  one!     Run  to  bed,  quick! 

[Roland  lags  snail-like  toward  the  door.] 


14  Moloch 

PHIL.  Oh,  let  him  stay  up  for  a  minute,  please ! 
Come  along,  kiddie!  [Takes  Roland  on  his  knee.] 
Well,  old  pal !  What  have  you  done  all  day  ? 

ROLAND.  I've  been  playing  war.  We  killed  the  for 
eigners. 

KATHERINE.     Roland ! 

PHIL.     So  so!     And  will  you  kill  me,  too? 

ROLAND  [with  his  arm  about  Phil's  neck].  You're 
not  a  foreigner.  If  anybody  tries  to  kill  you  ever,  I 
will  take  my  sword  — 

KATHERINE.  That's  enough,  dear.  Come  say  your 
prayers. 

ROLAND.  I  want  Uncle  Phil  to  say  his  prayers  with 
me. 

PHIL.     I'm  afraid  I  have  forgotten  how. 

ROLAND.  I'll  show  you.  [Slips  from  Phil's  knee.] 
You  kneel,  you  know,  like  this.  [Kneels  before  Kath- 
erine.] 

KATHERINE.     Phil,  dear!     To-night  — 

PHIL.  It  is,  I  think,  twenty  years  since  — 
[Glances  from  the  child  to  the  mother ,  then  kneels  beside 
Roland.]  She  would  have  loved  you,  my  mother. 

ROLAND.     "  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 

I  pray  Thee,  Lord,  my  soul  to  keep !  " 
Make  me  kind !     Keep  me  clean !     Make  me  a  good  boy, 
for  the  dear  Lord's  sake.     Amen! 

PHIL  [half  whimsically].  Make  me  a  good  boy  for 
her  dear  sake! 

KATHERINE   [her  hand  on  his  shoulder].     Amen! 

MARTHA  [outside].    Master  Roland!    Master  Roland! 

[Phil  jumps  up  in  some  embarrassment  and  goes  to 
the  other  side  of  the  room.  Martha  comes  in  at  the 
right.  Roland  springs  up  and  runs  away  from  her.] 

MARTHA.  Come  to  bed,  sir!  Come!  [Trying 
vainly  to  catch  Roland.]  My  niece  Patty  never  acted 
like  this. 


Moloch  15 

[Robert  comes  in  from  the  terrace.  Roland  runs  to 
him.] 

ROLAND.      Let  me  stay  up  a  minute,  Daddy ! 

ROBERT.  Well,  it's  a  special  sort  of  night.  [Goes 
to  the  hearth.] 

ROLAND  [running  to  Phil].  I'm  going  to  stay  up! 
I'm  going  to  stay  up! 

ROBERT  [taking  down  the  loving-cup].  We'll  want 
this  prize  cup  of  Phil's,  won't  we,  Kate? 

KATHERINE.  Oh,  yes.  And  there's  a  bottle  of  the 
'97  left. 

ROBERT.     Fine!     [Crosses.]     Fill  it,  Martha. 

MARTHA.     Yes,  sir. 

[Martha  goes  out  at  left  with  the  cup.] 

ROBERT  [going  to  Phil].  It's  all  right,  old  son. 
Trudie  is  with  her  mother.  And  Trudie  could  persuade 
the  legs  off  a  brass  kettle. 

ROLAND  [at  the  terrace  door].  Oh,  the  moon! 
[Seizes  Katherine's  hand  and  draws  her  to  the  door.] 
See  the  moon,  Mummy!  There,  above  the  pear-trees. 
Will  the  rabbits  come  out  and  dance  ?  The  Woodsy  Boy 
says  they  do. 

KATHERINE.  Hush!  Who  is  that  coming  across  the 
garden? 

ROLAND.     Oh,  it's  my  Woodsy  Boy! 

[Roland  runs  out  on  the  terrace.] 

ROBERT.     Who  does  he  mean? 

KATHERINE.  A  little  chap  that  we've  met  in  the 
wood,  Roland  and  I.  Roland!  [She  follows  the  child 
out  upon  the  terrace.] 

ROLAND    [outside].     Yes,    Mummy. 

KATHERINE   [outside].     You'll  catch  your  death! 

[Roland  comes  into  the  room  from  the  terrace,  with 
the  Woodsy  Boy,  a  slender  lad  of  sixteen  or  seventeen, 
shy,  big-eyed,  quick-motioned,  like  a  faun.  He  is  bare 
footed  and  bareheaded,  in  old  brown  trousers  and  shirt. 


16  Moloch 

In  his  arms  he  carries  a  little  cur.  Katherine  follows 
them  into  the  room.'] 

ROLAND.  Come  in!  Don't  be  scared.  My  Uncle 
Phil  can  make  him  well. 

WOODSY  BOY.     He  has  broken  his  leg,  please. 

ROBERT.  Hello!  Poor  little  beggar!  It's  your  job, 
Phil. 

KATHERINE.  Roland!  Don't  look!  [She  leads  Ro 
land  to  the  settle ,  and  places  him  upon  it.'] 

PHIL.  You  will  let  me  take  him,  yes?  [Takes  the 
dog.']  It  hurts,  eh? 

[Martha  comes  in  at  the  left  with  the  loving-cup.'] 

MARTHA.     Here's  the  cup,  sir. 

ROBERT.     Put  it  down.     We're  a  clinic  just  now. 

[Martha  sets  the  cup  on  the  table  at  centre.'] 

PHIL.  It's  broken,  all  right.  Lay  a  paper  across  the 
table,  will  you,  Rob?  [Robert  spreads  a  paper  on  the 
writing  table."]  We'll  want  some  warm  water,  Martha, 
and  some  cloths. 

MARTHA.     Yes,  sir. 

[Martha  goes  out  at  left.~\ 

PHIL.  If  you  have  pencils  handy,  they'll  make  cork 
ing  splints.  [Brings  the  dog  to  the  writing  table,  where 
he  works  over  him.'] 

ROBERT.  Hold  on!  I'll  give  you  a  light.  [Lights 
lamp  on  table.~\ 

PHIL.     Steady,  old  sport !     I'm  your  friend. 

ROBERT.     Quiet  him,  will  you,  sonny? 

[Woodsy  Boy  runs  to  the  table  and  strokes  the  dog.~] 

KATHERINE.     What  a  shame  that  your  pet  is  hurt ! 

WOODSY  BOY.  He  isn't  mine,  lady.  I  found  him. 
Over  there  by  the  upper  lake. 

KATHERINE.  But  that's  a  long  distance  for  you  to 
walk. 

WOODSY  BOY.  He  was  in  pain.  So  I  had  to  bring 
him. 


Moloch  17 

[Martha  comes  in  again  'with  a  basin  of  -water  and 
some  cloths.'] 

MARTHA.     Here's  the  warm  water,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Fine!  [Sets  basin  on  table.~\  Here  you 
are,  Phil. 

PHIL.     We'll  fix  him  all  right  now. 

MARTHA.  Poor  creature!  I'd  better  get  him  some 
thing  to  eat. 

ROBERT.  Sure  thing!  Kill  him  with  indigestion. 
He'll  die  happy. 

KATHERINE.     Can't  you  find  an  old  basket  for  him? 

MARTHA.  Oh,  yes,  ma'am.  And  I'll  get  him  a  bone, 
too. 

[Martha  goes  out  at  left.] 

PHIL.     Hold  on !     We  haven't  rags  enough. 

ROBERT.  Here  you  are!  [Tearing  up  his  handker 
chief.]  Wait  a  bit! 

[Basil  comes  in  from  the  terrace,  heatedly,  and  stands 
brushing  the  mud  from  his  trousers.] 

BASIL.     Well,  of  all  the  damned  luck ! 

ROBERT.     Hold  your  horses,  Bub!     What's  up? 

BASIL.  I  can't  get  across  the  beastly  river.  And 
how  do  I  know  what's  waiting  for  me,  there  at  the  post 
master's,  and  forty  feet  of  bad  water,  or  fifteen  miles  of 
road  between  us? 

WOODSY  Boy.     Do  you  want  the  mail,  Mister? 

BASIL.     Do  I  want  it?       Rather! 

WOODSY  BOY.     I'll  get  it.      [Runs  to  terrace  door.] 

KATHERINE.  Child  alive!  You  can't  get  across  the 
river.  The  bridge  is  down. 

WOODSY  BOY  [laughing].  Oh,  yes.  But  I  can  get 
across.  There's  a  place  I  know,  and  nobody  else.  You 
wait.  I'll  show  you. 

[The  Woodsy  Boy  runs  out.] 

PHIL.  Hold  the  light  nearer,  Rob !  Catch  hold,  Ba 
sil,  please!  Keep  the  little  beggar  still. 


18  Moloch 

[The  three  men  crowd  about  the  writing  table.  Ger 
trude  runs  in  from  the  terrace.] 

GERTRUDE.  O  Kate!  [Goes  to  Katherine.]  You 
know,  don't  you? 

KATHERINE   [embracing  her].     I'm  so  happy  over  it. 

GERTRUDE.  Mother  almost  forgave  Phil  for  being  a 
foreigner. 

PHIL.     Give  us  a  splint.     Get  busy ! 

KATHERINE.  Nice  things,  aren't  they,  those  men  of 
ours ! 

GERTRUDE.     Kate!     If  there  should  be  war! 

KATHERINE.  Why,  there  can't  be.  Men  like  those 
three,  at  each  other's  throats,  food  for  cannon —  Oh, 
it's  madness  to  think  of  it ! 

[Martha  comes  in  from  the  left  with  a  basket.] 

MARTHA.  Here's  the  basket,  sir.  [She  crosses  and 
stands  by  Roland.] 

BASIL.  Just  make  him  comfy.  Then  I'll  put  him  out 
in  the  lean-to. 

[Basil  takes  the  dog  in  the  basket  and  goes  out  at  left. 
Robert  goes  to  the  table  at  centre.  Professor  comes  in 
from  the  terrace,  closely  followed  by  Lydia.] 

PROFESSOR.  Dear,  dear!  It  is  long  past  the  hour 
for  covering  the  gold-fish.  And  you  didn't  remember, 
Kate! 

KATHERINE.  I'm  sorry,  Uncle.  [She  joins  him  in 
the  bow-window.]  But  I'm  sure  they  haven't  caught 
cold.  [She  helps  him  to  cover  the  globe  with  a  cloth.'] 

GERTRUDE.     Mother,  dear ! 

LYDIA.  I  am  quite  resigned.  [She  pauses  before  the 
settle.]  Philip!  [Phil  hastily  is  drying  his  hands.] 
Whenever  you  are  at  liberty  — 

PHIL.     Dear  lady!      [Goes  to  her.] 

LYDIA  [giving  him  her  hand].  You  have  my  consent. 
[Phil  kisses  her  hand.]  No  doubt  I  should  be  grateful 
that  you  asked  it.  [She  sits  on  the  settle.] 

[Basil  comes  in  again  from  the  left.] 


Moloch  19 

GERTRUDE  [eager  to  make  amends  for  her  mother's 
brusqueness].  Phil  dear!  [Draws  near  him.'] 

BASIL.  Oh,  I  say]  Is  that  what  you're  driving  at, 
you  two? 

KATHERINE.     Where  were  your  eyes,  you  bat? 

PROFESSOR.     Felicitations,  then,  are  in  order? 

ROLAND.     What  is  it  all  about? 

PHIL.     The  biggest  thing  in  the  world,  kiddie. 

GERTRUDE.  Uncle  Phil  is  going  to  be  your  really  un 
cle,  not  a  pretend  uncle. 

ROLAND.     Is  he,  Daddy? 

ROBERT.  Perhaps  we'd  better  let  him  —  if  he  prom 
ises  to  be  good! 

ROLAND.  And  he'll  stay  with  us  always?  Isn't  that 
jolly,  Granny? 

LYDIA.     Well,  I  suppose  it  is. 

GERTRUDE.  O  Mother,  you  know  you're  just  as 
happy  as  the  rest  of  us. 

KATHERINE.     And  that's  pretty  happy. 

ROBERT.  Right  you  are!  [Takes  cup.]  Here's  to 
you,  Sis !  And  to  you,  old  son !  All  the  love  that's  in 
all  our  hearts  — 

BASIL.     Me,  too ! 

ROBERT.  —  out  of  this  loving-cup.  Drink  first,  Tru- 
die! 

GERTRUDE.  Thank  you,  Rob!  [Drinks.]  It's  your 
turn,  Phil. 

[Their  hands  are  on  the  cup,  when  the  Woodsy  Boy 
runs  in  from  the  terrace  with  newspapers.] 

WOODSY  BOY.  Here  are  the  papers.  I  couldn't  read 
them.  But  the  people,  they  all  said :  War ! 

KATHERINE.     Oh,  no ! 

ROBERT.     Let  me  see ! 

BASIL.     Give  it  here! 

[Both  snatch  papers  from  the  Woodsy  Boy.  Basil 
gives  a  paper  to  the  Professor.  Robert  sits  at  tablet 
flinging  open  the  paper.] 


20  Moloch 

PHIL.     It  can't  be.      [Sets  down  the  cup.'] 

GERTRUDE.  Phil !  Oh,  but  you  —  What  will  be 
come  of  you? 

ROBERT  [from  paper].  War  was  declared  at  mid 
night. 

LYDIA.     It's  come,  then. 

PROFESSOR.     Just  as  I  foretold. 

KATHERINE.     Oh,  no,  no !     God  wouldn't  let  it  be. 

BASIL  [from  paper].  They've  stoned  our  ambassa 
dor.  They've  dragged  our  flag  in  the  mud. 

PROFESSOR.     Exactly  what  they  did  thirty  years  ago. 

LYDIA.     A  foreigner  is  always  a  foreigner. 

PROFESSOR.     Racial  differences  outcrop  — 

PHIL.  Racial  differences?  What  do  you  talk  of? 
This  is  the  twentieth  century.  We're  past  the  tribal 
stage. 

BASIL  [striking  the  paper  with  his  fist].  Your  people 
aren't  even  past  the  caveman  stage. 

ROBERT  [rising].     Go  easy,  Basil! 

PHIL.  It  has  come,  it  seems,  Rob,  the  thing  we  agreed 
was  quite  impossible. 

ROBERT.  Old  man,  nothing  is  changed  between  you 
and  me,  remember.  Nothing  is  going  to  change. 

KATHERINE.     Of  course  not. 

GERTRUDE.  It  can't  make  any  difference.  We  won't 
let  it  make  any  difference,  will  we,  Phil  ?  Will  we  ? 

PHIL.     Between  us  two?     No! 

BASIL.  You  can't  fielp  yourselves.  It's  war  now. 
War! 

WOODSY  BOY  [touching  Robert's  sleeve].  Is  it  be 
cause  of  the  war  he  must  go  away  ? 

ROBERT.     What  do  you  mean? 

WOODSY  BOY.  The  men  down  in  the  village,  they 
were  saying  he  must  go. 

LYDIA.  And  they're  right.  I've  lived  through  two 
wars. 

GERTRUDE.     Mother ! 


Moloch  21 

PHIL.  And  I  was  tending  their  children,  just  this 
afternoon. 

KATHERINE.  Oh,  they  can't  mean  to  drive  him 
away  ? 

BASIL..  Can't  they?  [Beside  himself.]  Look  here! 
See  what  his  people  have  done  to  our  people!  [Gives 
paper  to  Robert.]  Look!  Look! 

ROBERT.  Good  God !  Our  women  —  outraged.  Lit 
tle  children,  taken  out  of  their  mothers'  arms,  torn  to 
pieces. 

PHIL.     You  believe  those  stories? 

BASIL.     We  know  the  sort  they  are,  the  dirty  brutes ! 

ROBERT.     Go  slow  there! 

PHIL.     Am  I  a  —  dirty  brute? 

KATHERINE.     Basil ! 

PHIL.  Rob !  Tell  me !  In  this  house,  now,  where 
do  I  stand? 

ROBERT.     You  are  —  our  guest. 

KATHERINE  [going  to  Robert],  Our  friend,  Rob. 
Our  best  friend. 

GERTRUDE.     Why,  Rob !     You  don't  mean  — 

PHIL  [with  authority].  Please,  Trudie!  Please! 
[To  Robert.]  You  take  them  seriously,  then,  these  lies 
to  sell  your  newspapers? 

BASIL.  Maybe  it's  a  lie  that  our  country  is  honey 
combed  with  your  infernal  spy  system.  Chaps  that  have 
been  guests  in  our  houses  —  chaps  like  yourself  — 

GERTRUDE    [to   Basil].     Oh!     You   dare   to  — 

ROBERT  [to  Basil].  Be  quiet!  [To  Phil]  Of 
course  that's  absurd.  But  your  country  and  my  coun 
try  are  going  to  fight. 

KATHERINE.     You  said  yourself  — 

ROBERT.  That  was  before  war  was  declared.  And 
before  I  knew  how  the  foreigners  fight. 

KATHERINE.     Rob! 

ROBERT.     Now,  right  or  wrong,  it's  my  country. 

LYDIA.     Ah ! 


22  Moloch 

ROBERT.  They're  right,  those  men  in  the  village. 
Better  go,  Phil,  while  there's  still  time. 

PHIL.  I  understand,  yes.  I  leave  right  away  for 
town.  I  go  and  get  my  things  together  now.  [Starts 
toward  door  right.] 

GERTRUDE.     You're  driving  him  away! 

PHIL.  No,  no,  dear.  It's  just  commonsense.  In 
town  I  see  you  all  again.  This  war  scare  blows  over 
maybe.  This  is  then  just  a  good  story,  eh?  Good 
night,  Katherine ! 

KATHERINE  [giving  him  her  hand].    Good  night,  Phil! 

PHIL  [to  Robert].  Good  night  [shaking  Robert's 
hand],  old  enemy!  [Turns  to  Gertrude.] 

GERTRUDE  [clinging  to  him].  You'll  come  back? 
Oh,  you'll  come  back? 

PHIL.  Of  course  I  will.  [Kisses  her.  Roland  slips 
to  floor  and  stands  awaiting  a  farewell.]  Good-bye! 

[Phil  goes  out  hastily  at  the  right,  ignoring  the  child.] 

ROLAND  [at  the  point  of  tears].  You  said  he  would 
stay  with  us  always. 

[Gertrude  buries  her  face  in  her  hands,  sobbing 
aloud.] 

LYDIA.  Hush !  [Draws  Roland  down  on  settle  be 
side  her,  soothing  him.] 

BASIL.  I've  got  to  get  the  eleven  o'clock  train  to 
town. 

ROBERT  [seated  at  table,  with  the  paper].  War  was 
declared  at  midnight. 

KATHERINE.  Less  than  twenty-four  hours.  Already 
it's  cost  us  our  best  friend.  Oh,  what's  to  be  the  end  of 
it  all?  [Her  hand  on  Robert's  shoulder. ]  What's  to  be 
the  end? 

[Robert  looks  up  at  her,  wondering."] 

CURTAIN 


ACT   I 

The  town-house,  in  its  architecture  and  its  furnishings, 
belongs  to  an  older  generation.  The  parlor,  in  the  sec 
ond  story,  opens  at  the  back,  up  three  shallow  steps 
and  through  a  wide  arched  doorway,  hung  with  dull 
green  curtains  that  are  looped  aside,  into  a  writing  room. 
The  rear  wall  of  this  inner  room  is  lined  with  book 
shelves.  A  writing  table  and  a  chair  fill  the  centre  of 
the  room.  In  the  parlor  itself  are  two  long  windows  at 
the  right,  hung  with  curtains  and  formal  lambrequins, 
and  set  with  window  boxes,  full  of  plants  in  blossom, 
and  with  cushioned  window-seats.  Between  the  win 
dows  stands  a  tall,  old-fashioned  secretary,  topped  with 
a  classic  bust,  and  littered  with  writing  things,  among 
which  are  a  pair  of  desk  candlesticks  and  several  photo 
graphs  in  frames.  A  stand  with  the  globe  of  gold-fish 
is  in  the  window  nearer  the  audience  and  close  by  a  rock 
ing-horse.  At  either  side  of  the  door  to  the  writing 
room  stands  a  bookcase.  Above  these  bookcases  hang 
large  prints  of  battle-scenes.  At  the  left  is  a  fireplace, 
filled  with  green  branches.  Above  the  narrow  mantle- 
ledge  hangs  the  picture  of  a  man  in  uniform,  draped  with 
a  flag  of  three  diagonal  stripes,  dark  blue,  orange,  and 
dark  blue.  Beneath  the  picture  hangs  a  sheathed  sword. 
At  either  side  of  the  fireplace  are  doors  to  the  outer 
passage.  Before  the  fireplace  are  two  armchairs.  At 
the  centre  of  the  room  is  a  table,  with  three  chairs,  and 
across  the  table,  facing  the  audience,  is  drawn  a  small 
sofa.  The  furniture  all  is  mellowed  with  use. 

23 


24  Moloch 

The  season  is  early  June.  The  time  is  the  middle  of 
the  morning,  ten  days  subsequent  to  the  happenings  of 
the  Prologue. 

Seated  at  the  table  in  the  writing  room,  the  Professor 
drives  a  busy  pen.  On  the  rocking-horse  sits  Roland, 
with  toy  sword,  helmet,  and  cuirass,  and  a  toy  banner, 
on  a  staff,  in  his  hand.  At  the  secretary  Katherine  is 
busy  with  notes  and  check-book.  Lydia,  by  the  hearth, 
is  mending  a  silk  flag,  the  size  of  a  company  pennon. 
At  the  table  Gertrude,  and  her  two  friends,  Frances  and 
Margaret,  girls  of  her  own  age  and  class,  are  deftly  mak 
ing  small  nosegays,  and  putting  them  into  a  flat  basket, 
which  already  is  three  quarters  filled.  The  table  is  lit 
tered  with  greens  and  cut  flowers.  The  women  all  are 
in  light  summer  frocks.  The  sunlight  from  the  long 
windows  is  clear  and  strong.  From  the  street  below 
swells  the  sound  of  martial  music.  The  girls'  voices  at 
first  are  barely  audible  through  the  din,  but  as  the  regi 
ment  passes,  presently  it  dies. 

MARGARET.  Every  man  that  is  a  man  is  going  to  the 
front. 

FRANCES.  That's  just  what  I  told  Richard.  So  of 
course  he  went  and  volunteered.  If  he  hadn't,  I'd  never 
have  spoken  to  him  again. 

MARGARET.  The  field  uniforms  are  the  sweetest 
things. 

FRANCES.  I  shall  have  my  new  coat  cut  with  a  mili 
tary  collar. 

GERTRUDE.  Stop  talking,  girls,  and  hurry!  Don't 
forget  the  train  goes  through  at  half  past  eleven. 

[Martha  comes  in  at  the  left,  rear  door,  with  a  note 
and  a  news  paper.  ] 

FRANCES.     Won't  the  soldiers  be  glad  of  the  flowers ! 

LYDIA.     You'd  much  better  take  them  tobacco. 

MARTHA.  Here's  the  Extra,  ma'am,  they  were  cry 
ing  in  the  street.  [Gives  paper  to  Lydia.]  And  here's 


Moloch  25 

a  note  from  the  hospital,  ma'am.      [Gives  note  to  Kath- 
erine.~] 

MARGARET  [rising'].  Oh,  may  we  look,  too?  [Runs 
to  Lydia.~\ 

FRANCES  [at  Lydia's  side].  Another  victory.  Glori 
ous  ! 

LYDIA.  Didn't  I  tell  you?  When  once  this  country 
is  roused! 

KATHERINE.     Gertrude ! 

GERTRUDE.     Yes,  dear. 

KATHERINE.  We'd  better  cut  up  all  the  old  linen  in 
the  house. 

GERTRUDE.     Are  they  short  of  gauze  already? 

KATHERINE.  Yes.  And  another  trainload  of 
wounded  will  come  in  to-night. 

FRANCES  [returning  to  the  table].  Did  you  hear  that, 
Trudie  ?  Another  victory  ! 

GERTRUDE.     Oh,  yes.     I  heard. 

MARTHA.     Here  are  the  keys,  ma'am. 

KATHERINE.     Yes.     Are  the  sandwiches  ready? 

MARTHA.  I've  just  given  the  hamper  to  the  porter 
to  take  to  the  station. 

KATHERINE.  Boil  both  the  hams  to-night.  The  com 
missary  seems  to  have  broken  down.  If  we  don't  feed 
the  troops  that  pass  through  — 

GERTRUDE.  O  Martha !  Reach  us  some  flowers  from 
the  window  boxes.  We're  running  short. 

MARTHA  [at  rear  window,  right].  They're  most  all 
dying,  Miss.  It's  the  dust  the  men  kick  up  a-marching 
by. 

[A  bugle  sounds  in  the  street  and  the  jingle  of  har 
ness.] 

ROLAND  [at  the  window].  O  Mummy,  look!  Cav 
alry! 

FRANCES.     If  I  don't  just  love  a  bugle ! 
MARTHA.     Wouldn't  I  just  like  to  be  a  man  and  go 
fight  the  nasty  foreigners  myself! 


26  Moloch 

PROFESSOR.     Martha!     Will  you  please  come  here? 

MARTHA.     Yes,  sir.      [Goes  into  writing  room.] 

PROFESSOR.  At  last  I  have  caught  that  troublesome 
mouse.  Kindly  dispose  of  it!  [Gives  Martha  a  wire 
trap,  which  he  takes  from  beneath  the  writing  table.] 
I  mean,  take  it  away  and  kill  it. 

MARTHA  [coming  into  the  parlor].  Well,  I  must  say! 
I've  never  killed  nothing  in  my  life,  but  flies  and  mos 
quitoes.  And  if  he  wants  his  mouse  killed,  he  can  kill 
it  himself,  so  there. 

ROLAND  [going  to  her].  Say,  Martha,  let's  turn  him 
loose  in  the  court. 

MARTHA.     We  will  that. 

ROLAND.  He'll  be  so  scared  he'll  never  come  back, 
and  he'll  tell  all  the  other  little  mice  never  to  come  here, 
too. 

[Roland  and  Martha  go  out  at  the  forward  door  left.] 

PROFESSOR  [rising].  There!  That  is  quite  done. 
[Comes  into  the  parlor,  manuscript  in  hand.]  This  is 
an  appeal  to  be  given  to  the  world  in  this  evening's  pa 
pers,  a  trumpet  call  to  the  youth  of  our  land  to  rally  to 
the  standard. 

GERTRUDE.  What's  the  good  of  their  rallying,  if 
there's  no  equipment  for  them? 

PROFESSOR.  That  is  beside  the  point.  [Margaret 
goes  to  the  rear  window  for  flowers.]  Their  backward 
ness  at  such  a  time  is  appalling. 

KATHERINE.  So  many  men  have  wives  and  children 
and  old  folks  that  depend  upon  them. 

PROFESSOR.  The  claims  of  our  country  are  para 
mount. 

LYDIA.  What  do  you  know  about  it?  You've  noth 
ing  with  a  claim  upon  you,  except  that  bowl  of  gold-fish. 

PROFESSOR  [going  to  her].  Let  me  assure  you,  my 
dear  sister,  that  if  my  heart  were  not  weak,  and  if  I 
were  not  past  the  age  limit,  I  should  be  already  at  the 
front.  That  is,  if  it  were  not  true  now  as  always  that 


Moloch  27 

the  pen  is  mightier  than  the  sword.  If  I  can  stir  a 
thousand  men  to  action  by  my  writings,  obviously  it  is 
better  for  the  nation  that  I  stay  at  home  and  write. 
[Goes  to  the  door,  but  turns ,  smarting  with  the  sense  of 
his  wrongs.]  Anybody  but  a  woman  would  see  that! 

[The  Professor  goes  out,  forward  door,  left.] 

GERTRUDE.     Hurry,  Margaret !     It's  late ! 

MARGARET.  Just  a  minute.  It's  a  lot  of  volunteers 
are  passing  now.  Come  see  them,  Kate ! 

KATHERINE.  I  can't  bear  to  look.  They're  all  so 
young. 

MARGARET.  Oh,  Basil!  [Turns  from  window.] 
Here's  your  brother  Basil,  just  coming  up  the  steps. 
And  he's  got  his  uniform  at  last. 

FRANCES  [rising].     What  uniform? 

GERTRUDE  [rt*fH<7J.  They've  graduated  the  first  class 
cadets  ahead  of  time.  Basil  is  a  lieutenant  now. 

[Basil  comes  in,  forward  door,  left,  in  the  showy  uni 
form  of  a  hussar  lieutenant,  which  he  carries  well.  You 
love  him  at  sight.] 

GERTRUDE.     Oh,  you  beautiful  thing! 

BASIL.  Chuck  it  now !  [Puts  busby  and  gauntlets  on 
chair.]  Good  morning,  Frances.  Good  morning,  Mar 
garet. 

FRANCES.     My,  but  you're  splendid ! 

BASIL.     How  do  you  like  it,  Mother? 

LYDIA.  Come  here!  That  collar  isn't  going  to  rub 
your  neck? 

BASIL.     Devil  a  bit ! 

FRANCES.     Don't  you  want  to  do  something  for  me  ? 

BASIL  [going  to  her,  with  an  exaggerated  bow].  My 
heart  is  at  your  feet. 

FRANCES.  I  don't  want  your  heart.  I  want  one  of 
your  coat  buttons. 

BASIL.  The  penalty  for  cutting  off  a  button  is  shoot 
ing.  Do  you  want  to  put  a  permanent  crimp  in  my  ca 
reer? 


28  Moloch 

FRANCES.     But  you  must  have  an  extra  button. 

BASIL.  I  have.  [Takes  button  from  pocket.]  For 
the  dearest  girl  in  the  world. 

FRANCES.     That's  me? 

MARGARET  [wounded].     Basil! 

BASIL  [turning  to  Lydia].  Will  you  accept  it, 
Mother? 

LYDIA  [trying  to  hide  her  feelings].  Foolishness! 
[Pockets  button.]  I  can  ease  that  collar  a  little. 
You're  staying  to  lunch? 

BASIL.  I'm  afraid  not.  Just  ran  around  to  say:  So 
long! 

KATHERINE.     What  do  you  mean? 

BASIL.  Ripping  good  luck!  We've  got  our  marching 
orders. 

[The  three  girls  speak  together:] 

FRANCES.     How  perfectly  lovely! 

MARGARET.     This  very  day? 

GERTRUDE.     Where  are  you  going? 

LYDIA.  Marching  orders !  [Sinks  back  in  her  chair, 
clutching  the  flag*] 

BASIL  [bending  over  her].     Mother!     I  say! 

LYDIA.  It's  —  a  little  sudden.  Don't  mind  me ! 
[Rises,  leaving  the  flag  on  the  chair.]  There  are  some 
things  to  get  ready.  I'll  be  down  in  a  minute. 

[Lydia  goes  out  through  the  writing  room.] 

GERTRUDE  [after  an  instant's  troubled  pause].  These 
flowers  must  go. 

FRANCES.  You  must  have  a  flower,  Basil.  To  re 
member  me  by.  [Puts  a  flower  in  his  coat.] 

BASIL.     Is  it  likely  I'd  forget  you? 

MARGARET  [offering  a  flower].     Here,  Basil. 

BASIL  [taking  flower].  But  I'll  have  to  wear  one  of 
them  behind  my  ear ! 

FRANCES.  Goose !  I'm  going  to  kiss  you  good-bye. 
Old  playmates!  [Kisses  him.]  Good-bye,  Gertrude! 
Good  luck,  Basil! 


Moloch  29 

[Frances  goes  out,  forward  door  left,  with  the  basket 
of  flowers.] 

MARGARET.     Good-bye,  Basil! 

BASIL  [taking  her  hand].  Good-bye,  Margaret. 
Don't  forget  me ! 

MARGARET.     No,  never. 

[He  starts  to  draw  her  to  him.] 

FRANCES  [outside].  Hurry,  Margaret!  Hurry  j 
Hurry ! 

[Margaret  goes  out,  forward  door,  left.] 

BASIL  [throwing  into  the  wastepaper-basket  the  flower 
that  Frances  gave].  It  gets  me  how  you  can  have  a  lit 
tle  idiot  like  Frances  buzzing  round  you.  [Goes  to  the 
window,  right,  back,  putting  Margaret's  flower  in  his 
coat  as  he  docs  so.] 

GERTRUDE.  Thank  goodness,  we're  rid  of  them  at 
last. 

BASIL  [in  window].     She  doesn't  look  back. 

GERTRUDE  [impishly].     Frances? 

BASIL.     Frances?     No!     Of  course  not. 

KATHERINE.     Where  are  they  sending  you? 

BASIL.  Don't  know.  [Turns  from  window,  slightly 
swaggering,  while  he  gets  out  a  cigarette.]  Oh,  the  fir 
ing  line,  all  right.  Great  luck!  Was  afraid  the  war 
would  be  over  before  I'd  had  a  crack  at  it.  Can't  last 
more  than  six  weeks,  you  know.  We've  got  the  beggars 
on  the  run  already.  So  much  for  all  their  big  guns  and 
new  explosives.  It's  the  spirit  you  put  into  it  counts,  I 
tell  you.  Hang  it  all !  Got  any  matches  ? 

KATHERINE.     Right  here. 

BASIL  [going  to  secretary].  Seen  the  papers,  haven't 
you?  [Strikes  a  match.]  We've  had  another  — 
Hello!  Still  got  Phil's  picture  standing  round?  [ To- 
war  d  table,  smoking.] 

KATHERINE.     Why  not? 

BASIL.  Just  a  matter  of  taste,  that's  all.  I  wonder 
if  the  fellow  was  a  spy. 


30  Moloch 

KATHERINE.  Now  that  you're  wearing  a  lieutenant's 
uniform,  it  would  be  a  mortal  insult  to  box  your  ears, 
wouldn't  it? 

BASIL,  [distinctly  embarrassed'].     Well? 

KATHERINE.  I  should  hate  to  have  to  insult  you. 
Better  go  to  your  mother.  She's  waiting  for  you. 

BASIL  [on  way  out].     Coming,  Trudie? 

GERTRUDE.     In  a  minute.     I've  got  to  clear  up. 

[Basil  goes  out  through  the  writing  room.  Gertrude 
throws  litter  from  the  table  into  the  waste  paper-basket.] 

GERTRUDE.     Kate!     Basil  is  right,  you  know. 

KATHERINE.     About  Phil's   picture?      [Rises.] 

GERTRUDE.     Yes. 

KATHERINE  [going  to  her].  Gertrude!  Have  you 
thought  — 

GERTRUDE.  I  haven't  done  much  else,  all  these  end 
less  days.  It's  got  to  stop.  Why,  Kate,  what  else  can  I 
do?  Basil  is  going  to  the  front.  Rob  is  drilling  with 
his  regiment.  I  belong  with  them.  Not  with  Phil. 

KATHERINE.  How  much  did  you  ever  really  care  for 
him? 

GERTRUDE.  So  much  that  if  he  came  in  at  that  door 
—  if  I  heard  his  voice  —  if  I  felt  his  arms  about  me  — 
What  should  I  do?  [Clings  to  Katherine,  sobbing.] 
Oh,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do. 

[Robert  comes  int  forward  doorf  left,  in  civilian 
clothes.'] 

ROBERT.     Hello !     Hello !     What's  the  row  ? 

[Military  music  from  the  street  below.] 

GERTRUDE.     Oh,  let  me  be !     Please !     Let  me  be ! 

[Gertrude  hurries  out,  crying }  at  the  rear  door  left.] 

ROBERT.     What's  up? 

KATHERINE.  She's  tired  to  death,  that's  all.  [Sits 
on  sofa.] 

ROBERT.     Not  fretting  about  Phil,  is  she? 

KATHERINE.     What  should  you  suppose? 

ROBERT.     Well,  she'd  better  drop  it.     Things  being 


Moloch  31 

as  they  are —  Can't  you  see  it's  impossible?  [Kath- 
erine  hides  her  face  in  her  hands.]  What's  the  matter? 
[He  sits  beside  her.]  Come,  come,  Kate!  That  isn't 
like  you.  Tired,  aren't  you? 

KATHERINE.  Tired  of  hearing  them  marching  by. 
All  day  long.  All  night  long.  And  all  the  love  and 
kindness  that  made  our  lives,  trampled  under  the  feet 
that  march. 

ROBERT.  That's  morbid.  Come  on!  Crack  a  smile, 
Kate.  That's  a  good  girl.  You  don't  want  to  lose  your 
grip,  you  know,  so  early  in  the  game. 

[Music  dies  slowly  away.~\ 

KATHERINE.  So  early  —  You  mean  the  war  is  only 
just  beginning? 

ROBERT.     Kate!     It  hasn't  even  begun. 

KATHERINE.     And  Basil  says:     In  six  weeks! 

ROBERT.  Yes.  And  the  newspapers  report  another 
victory,  every  day  or  so. 

KATHERINE.     You  mean  they're  telling  us  — 

ROBERT.  Well  —  they're  not  telling  us  more  than 
half  the  truth.  Don't  you  worry,  dear!  In  the  long 
run  we'll  knock  those  damned  cock-sure  foreigners  down 
on  their  knees,  yes,  and  hold  'em  there  till  they  promise 
to  be  good.  But  before  we  can  do  that,  we've  got  to 
make  an  army  out  of  a  lot  of  raw  men  that  never  so 
much  as  loaded  a  gun.  That  isn't  done  in  a  day. 

KATHERINE.  Oh,  what's  the  good  of  it!  What's  the 
use  of  it !  What's  the  sense  of  it ! 

ROBERT.     Kate ! 

KATHERINE.  In  ten  days'  fighting  you've  undone  the 
life-work  of  thousands  of  people.  There  ought  to  be 
some  other  way.  There  must  be  some  other  way. 

ROBERT.     There,  there! 

KATHERINE.  And  you  say  we  haven't  even  begun! 
But  we  women,  we've  begun  already.  Do  you  realize 
what  the  distress  is  like  in  the  families  of  the  poorer 
men  that  have  volunteered? 


32  Moloch 

ROBERT.     Those  things  will  all  adjust  themselves. 

KATHERINE.  Do  you  realize  how  many  babies  have 
been  killed  already  by  your  war? 

ROBERT.     What  are  you  talking  about? 

KATHERINE.  So  many  dead,  because  the  milk  in  the 
mother's  breast  turned  poison,  when  the  father  went 
away  to  war.  So  many  born  dead  — 

ROBERT.  That's  sentimental.  The  infant  death-rate 
may  soar  a  bit,  but  after  a  war  there's  always  an  in 
crease  in  births. 

KATHERINE.  If  Roland  should  die,  would  it  console 
you  to  know  that  a  dozen  children  will  be  born  down  in 
the  village  next  winter? 

ROBERT  [rising].  There's  no  reasoning  with  you, 
Kate.  Too  bad  to  disagree  to-day,  of  all  days.  [Goes 
to  hearth.']  I  had  something  I  wanted  to  tell  you. 

KATHERINE  [rising"].     Something  —  bad,  you  mean. 

ROBERT.  Nothing  dreadful,  only  —  I  might  have 
mentioned  it  before,  but  I  thought,  in  case  I  didn't  pull 
it  off,  no  need  to  fuss  you  up  for  nothing.  And  as  long 
as  you're  comfortably  fixed  here  — 

KATHERINE  [going  to  him].  Quick!  Quick!  Tell 
me  what  you're  driving  at ! 

ROBERT.     Kate,  dear ! 

KATHERINE.     You're  going  to  leave  me? 

ROBERT.     Yes. 

KATHERINE.     With  the  men  that  march? 

ROBERT.     Yes. 

KATHERINE.  My  God!  [Quietly  sits  down  by  the 
hearth.] 

ROBERT.  The  country  needs  trained  men.  Needs  'em 
desperately.  You  wouldn't  have  me  hang  round  home 
now,  would  you?  I  couldn't  anyhow.  Not  with  his 
blood  in  me  [pointing  to  the  picture  over  the  fireplace], 
and  the  chaps  that  were  his  fathers  before  him. 

KATHERINE.  I  thought  —  not  till  later.  Your  regi 
ment,  just  raw  defensibles  — 


Moloch  33 

ROBERT.     I'm  not  waiting  for  them. 

KATHERINE.     You've  volunteered? 

ROBERT.  Changed  my  major's  commission  for  a  cap 
taincy  in  the  regulars.  Don't  you  realize?  They're 
short  of  officers  already.  I'm  to  report  at  Headquar 
ters  to-night. 

KATHERINE.     This  very  night? 

ROBERT.  Had  my  new  uniform  sent  round  here. 
Better  get  into  it,  perhaps.  [Starts  toward  writing 
room.'] 

KATHERINE.  And  Basil  goes  to-day.  What  will 
your  mother  do?  What  shall  I  do? 

ROBERT  [turning  quickly'].     Kate! 

KATHERINE.  All  right.  [Controls  herself.  Rises.] 
Yes.  Of  course.  I  understand.  It's  in  the  blood. 
My  fathers  weren't  soldiers  —  but  one  of  them  burned 
at  the  stake  for  the  faith  that  was  his.  How  much  time 
have  we  still? 

ROBERT.     Well  • —  about  an  hour. 

KATHERINE.  No  more?  Your  mother  —  she'll  want 
a  moment,  alone.  Go  to  her!  Speak  to  Gertrude!  I'll 
come  in  a  minute. 

ROBERT.  Kate!  [Catches  her  to  him.]  You  see,  I 
didn't  realize  that  the  call  would  come  so  soon.  Kate, 
dear ! 

KATHERINE.  Don't!  I  can't  bear  it.  Please  go! 
I'll  come  presently.  I'll  come. 

[Robert  goes  out  through  the  'writing  room.  Kath- 
erine  sways  and  sinks  on  the  sofa,  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands.  After  a  moment  Martha  comes  in  ex 
citedly  at  the  forward  door  left.] 

MARTHA.     If  you  please,  ma'am. 

KATHERINE.     Not  now,  Martha.     I  can't. 

MARTHA.     O  ma'am!     He's  come  back. 

KATHERINE   [looking  up.]     Who? 

MARTHA.     Mr.  Philip. 

KATHERINE.     Phil! 


34  Moloch 

MARTHA.  He  wants  to  see  you.  He's  waiting  down 
stairs. 

KATHERINE  [rising].     Not  here  in  this  house? 

MARTHA.     Yes,  ma'am. 

KATHERINE.  In  this  town  where  everybody  knows 
him !  Why,  the  people  in  the  street  —  the  very  neigh 
bors  —  if  they  should  raise  the  cry  of  spy ! 

MARTHA.     O  ma'am  !     Not  like  that  poor  man  they  — 

KATHERINE.  Send  him  up  here  quick!  And  don't 
let  any  one  else  in.  [Martha  starts  to  go.]  Say  I'm 
not  at  home. 

[Phil  comes  in  headlong  at  the  forward  door.] 

PHIL  [catching  her  last  words].  You've  got  to  see 
me,  Katherine. 

[Martha  goes  out.] 

KATHERINE.     Oh,  you  crazy  boy! 

PHIL  [grasping  her  hands].     Listen  to  me! 

KATHERINE.  Why  aren't  you  safe  across  your  own 
frontier?  You've  had  ten  days. 

PHIL.  Ten  days?  Yes.  Ten  days  like  ten  years. 
I've  been  hiding  out  in  the  suburbs.  I've  been  waiting 
for  a  word  from  Gertrude. 

KATHERINE.     Phil ! 

PHIL.     Where  is  she? 

KATHERINE.     Here. 

PHIL.  Why  hasn't  she  sent  me  a  word?  Didn't  you 
get  my  letters? 

KATHERINE.     Yes. 

PHIL.  Then  why  hasn't  she  written?  What's 
wrong?  Tell  me,  Katherine!  Tell  me!  I've  come 
here  to  find  out.  I  don't  go  till  I  do  find  out. 

[Gertrude  comes  in  at  the  rear  door  left.] 

GERTRUDE.     O  Kate!     Rob  is  calling  for  you. 

PHIL  [turning,  arms  out].     Gertrude! 

GERTRUDE  [instinctively ,  straight  to  his  arms].  Phil! 
Phil!  [Recovering  herself,  she  draws  back.]  Oh,  no! 
no! 


Moloch  35 

KATHERINE  [in  the  doorway  of  the  writing  room]. 
Say  what  you  came  to  say.  I'll  go  to  Rob. 

GERTRUDE.     Don't  leave  me,  Kate ! 

KATHERINE.  He's  risked  his  life  to  come  here. 
You've  got  to  listen  to  him. 

[Katherine  goes  out  through  the  writing  room.] 

GERTRUDE.  There's  nothing  to  say.  You  belong 
there.  I  belong  here. 

PHIL.  Belong  to  what?  To  a  lot  of  crazy  savages, 
gone  drunk  with  newspaper-lies? 

GERTRUDE.  You  shan't  speak  so  of  my  country 
men! 

PHIL.  My  own  precious  countrymen  are  just  as  wild- 
eyed  as  yours.  We  don't  belong  to  either  camp.  We 
belong  to  each  other. 

GERTRUDE.     No,  no!     That's  all  past! 

PHIL.  You  bet  it  isn't.  Sit  down !  Come !  [Draws 
her  down  on  the  sofa,  and  sits  beside  her.]  Listen  to 
me,  Trudie !  Get  the  noise  of  the  marching  out  of  your 
ears.  Remember  what  it  was  like,  spring  twilight,  there 
in  the  garden,  when  we  first  kissed.  [Kisses  her.] 

GERTRUDE  [clinging  to  him].  O  Phil!  These  last 
days  —  they've  been  an  awful  dream. 

PHIL.  That's  all  we'll  let  this  war  be  to  us,  an  awful 
dream.  We're  going  to  get  out  of  it. 

GERTRUDE.     How  can  we? 

PHIL.  Now  listen!  You  sail  for  America  next  week. 
I'll  send  you  to  an  exchange  professor  that  I  know. 
His  wife  will  look  after  you.  I'll  join  you  inside  the 
month.  We'll  be  married. 

GERTRUDE.  And  I  thought  it  was  all  over  and  done 
with! 

PHIL.  They'll  give  me  an  instructor's  berth,  and  a 
room  in  the  laboratory.  I'll  get  at  the  research.  While 
they're  killing  over  here,  I'll  be  hammering  out  a  way 
to  cure.  Isn't  that  as  worth  while? 

GERTRUDE.     Why,  yes.     Of  course! 


36  Moloch 

PHIL.  And  we'll  have  a  shelter  to  offer  to  your 
mother  and  to  Katherine,  if  things  go  wrong. 

GERTRUDE.  If  things  —  [Slowly  comprehending.] 
If  things  go  wrong?  You  mean  you  think  your  people 
will  get  the  better  of  my  people? 

PHIL.     Dear,  I  only  said  if. 

GERTRUDE  [rising].     But  you  think  it. 

PHIL.  What  else  can  I  think?  I  know  the  kind  of 
fight  my  country  is  going  to  make.  There's  only  one 
outcome  possible.  [Rises.]  But  all  that  has  nothing 
to  do  with  us,  dear,  has  it? 

GERTRUDE.  Yes.  Everything  —  everything.  I've 
got  to  stand  by.  Because  my  country  is  going  to  need 
every  ounce  of  strength  that's  in  every  last  man  and 
woman,  too.  Because  your  treacherous  country  — 

PHIL.     Treacherous ! 

GERTRUDE.  Yes.  Haven't  you  been  arming  your 
selves  ? 

PHIL.  It's  hardly  fair  to  call  us  treacherous  because 
you've  chosen  to  be  blind. 

GERTRUDE.     Why  — 

PHIL.  A  nation's  got  to  do  one  of  two  things:  arm 
itself  or  else  stop  talking  war.  You've  gone  about  brag 
ging  of  your  past,  with  a  blunderbuss  made  in  1830. 
Now  we'll  turn  to  with  real  guns  and  teach  you  — 

GERTRUDE.     Phil ! 

PHIL  [realising  what  he  has  said].  I  didn't  mean  it. 
I  didn't  mean  it.  [Going  to  her.]  One  country  is  to 
me  no  more  than  another.  Trudie !  Please  ! 

GERTRUDE.  You  may  believe  what  you're  saying. 
But  it  isn't  so.  You  belong  with  the  foreigners,  after 
all.  And  they've  behaved  like  savages. 

PHIL.  Remember,  dear,  my  father  and  my  mother 
belong  to  that  race  of  savages. 

GERTRUDE.  Yes.  I  remember  at  last.  Oh,  I  was 
crazy!  Even  for  a  minute  to  think  that  we  could 
ever  — 


Moloch  37 

PHIL.     Listen  to  me ! 

GERTRUDE  [turning  from  him'].  No,  no!  [Snatches 
the  flag  from  her  mother's  chair.]  This  is  my  flag. 
My  father  fought  for  it.  His  father  — 

PHIL.     Don't  be  theatric,  dear. 

GERTRUDE.  Yes,  that's  just  what  you  would  say  — 
a  man  who  turns  his  back  on  his  homeland  —  who  runs 
away  when  others  fight  — 

PHIL.  Yes.  Running  into  a  laboratory,  where  I've 
risked  death  a  hundred  times,  and  no  bugles  and  flags 
about  it  either. 

GERTRUDE.  But  I  stand  by  my  country.  If  I 
can  help  one  wounded  boy  that  has  fought  for  his  coun 
try— 

PHIL.  You  don't  know  what  you're  saying,  Trudie. 
[Goes  to  her.]  You're  tired.  You're  hysterical. 
[Takes  her  in  his  arms.] 

GERTRUDE.     Let  me  go ! 

PHIL.  Listen  to  me!  Listen!  We'll  give  up  the 
thought  of  America.  I  don't  ask  you  to  marry  me  now. 
I  ask  you  only  to  wait. 

GERTRUDE.     No,  no! 

PHIL.  Only  to  say  that  you  love  me  and  you'll  wait. 
Only  that!  O  my  dear!  Don't  you  realize  it's  our 
lives  we're  settling  now,  for  keeps? 

GERTRUDE.  And  do  you  think  I'll  tie  my  life  to  a 
coward? 

PHIL  [drawing  back,  mortally  hurt].     Trudie! 

[Robert,  in  the  uniform  of  an  infantry  captain,  comes 
through  the  writing  room,  followed  by  Katherine.] 

KATHERINE.     Wait,  Rob!     Wait!' 

GERTRUDE.  Here's  where  I  belong.  Here's  where  I 
stay. 

ROBERT  [coming  into  the  parlor,  to  Phil].  What  are 
you  doing  here? 

PHIL.  Wasting  time.  [Goes  blindly  to  the  right.] 
[Basil  comes  through  the  writing  room.] 


38  Moloch 

BASIL.  What's  the  row?  [Seeing  Phil.']  Come 
back,  have  you? 

GERTRUDE.  Ke  wants  me  to  marry  him.  But  I 
won't  go  with  him. 

ROBERT  [beneath  his  breath].     You  sneak! 

BASIL.     Case  for  the  detention  camp,  this  time,  Rob. 

PHIL  [facing  the  brothers].     Well? 

ROLAND  [outside].     Daddy! 

ROBERT.     Keep  him  out! 

[Before  Basil  can  move  to  intercept  him,  Roland  runs 
in  at  the  rear  door  left,  and  casts  himself  upon  Phil.] 

ROLAND.     O  my  Phil!     Did  you  come  back  to  see  us? 

KATHERINE.  Rob!  Please!  Please!  You  know 
what  brought  him  here. 

ROBERT  [after  a  moment,  pointing  off  through  writ 
ing  room].  That  way  is  clear.  For  old  sake's  sake, 
you're  free  to  go  that  way,  if  you  go  quick. 

PHIL.  Thanks!  [Sets  down  Roland.]  I  like  the 
front  way  better. 

KATHERINE.  Phil!  No!  If  they  take  you  at  our 
door! 

PHIL.  I  came  safe.  I  shall  go  safe.  I  am  the  sort 
looks  out  always  for  safety. 

KATHERINE.     But  where  are  you  going? 

PHIL.  Back  to  my  own  country.  Then  to  hell  very 
likely. 

[Phil  goes  out  by  the  forward  door.] 

GERTRUDE.  Oh !  They  won't  kill  him !  [Starts  after 
Phil.] 

[Robert  stops  her.] 

BASIL  [in  window  at  back].  The  street's  clear.  Or 
he  wouldn't  have  risked  it. 

ROBERT.     Good  old  Trudie ! 

ROLAND  [curled  up  on  the  sofa,  sobbing.]     Phil! 

BASIL  [going  to  him].     Buck  up,  old  man! 

[Lydia  appears  in  the  doorway  of  the  writing  room. 
Very  faintly  from  the  street  sounds  the  music  of  the 


Moloch  39 

March-out,  which  swells  louder  and  louder  as  the  act 
goes  on.~\ 

LYDIA.     Boys !     It's  time,  if  you're  to  take  that  train. 

ROBERT.  Roland !  Stop  crying.  Come,  come ! 
[Leads  him  to  Katherine.]  Remember  you're  to  take 
care  of  your  mother. 

LYDIA.     Give  me  that  flag,  Gertrude! 

GERTRUDE  [beside  herself,  kissing  the  flag  passion 
ately].  O  Mother!  Mother! 

LYDIA.  Hush !  It  was  the  flag  of  your  father's  com 
pany,  Basil.  Bring  it  home,  as  he  brought  it!  Bring 
it  home! 

BASIL.  Yes,  Mother.  [Kisses  her,  and  places  her, 
half  fainting,  on  the  sofa.]  Good  girl,  Sis !  [Embraces 
Gertrude.]  Good-bye !  Six  weeks  from  now.  We'll 
have  them  cleaned  up  by  then,  the  scallawags !  [Catch 
ing  up  busby  and  gloves.]  Come  on,  Rob,  you  duffer! 
Good-bye,  Kate!  Six  weeks  and  a  captaincy!  Good 
bye! 

[Basil  goes  out  at  forward  door.] 

LYDIA.     My  little  boy !     Rob !     My  little  boy ! 

ROBERT  [kneeling  before  her].  There,  there,  Mother! 
It's  all  right.  It's  all  right.  You've  got  Gertrude. 
You've  got  Kate.  Take  care  of  each  other.  It  won't  be 
long.  [Turns  to  Katherine.]  Old  girl!  [Kisses  her, 
snatches  up  his  cap,  goes  hurriedly  to  the  door.]  Good 
bye! 

ROLAND  [running  after  Robert].     Good-bye,  Daddy! 

[Robert  goes  out.  The  door  closes  in  Roland's 
grieved  and  puzzled  little  face.] 

LYDIA.     Basil !     My  little,  little  boy ! 

GERTRUDE  [seated  at  table,  raising  her  head].  Do 
you  think  you're  the  only  one  that's  given?  I've  given. 
All  that  I  have.  For  my  country.  Freely.  Joyfully. 

[Frances  and  Margaret  run  in  at  the  rear  door  left.] 

FRANCES.     Such  a  crowd!     We  ran  in  the  back  way. 

MARGARET.     They're  gone! 


40  Moloch 

FRANCES.     No,  not  yet. 

[The  two  girls  run  to  the  window,  rear,  Roland  to  the 
front  window.] 

GERTRUDE  [rising  unsteadily].  Quick!  The  flowers! 
All  that  there  are! 

[The  three  girls  crowd  in  the  rear  window,  tearing  up 
the  flowers  from  the  window  boxes,  and  casting  them  to 
the  troops  that  pass  below,  with  broken  cries  of  "  Good 
luck!  "  "  Good-bye!  "  that  are  drowned  in  the  music  of 
the  March-out.  Katherine  stands  with  eyes  covered. 
Roland  tugs  at  her  skirt  and  draws  her  to  the  window 
where  he  stands  waving  his  flag.  The  music  is  at  its 
fortissimo.  Lydia  nerves  herself,  rises,  and  totters  a 
step  toward  the  window.] 

CURTAIN 


ACT    II 

It  is  the  same  parlor,  where  the  girls  in  summer  frocks 
were  making  nosegays,  but  since  that  morning  nine 
months  of  war  have  passed.  The  curtains  are  drawn 
across  the  arched  doorway  to  the  writing  room.  The 
windows  are  half  coated  with  frost.  The  window  boxes 
are  gone.  The  gold-fish  and  their  stand  are  near  the 
hearth,  where  a  meager  coal  fire  burns.  On  the  book 
case  to  the  right  of  the  door  to  the  writing  room  is  a 
large  lighted  lamp.  On  the  mantel-shelf  a  pair  of 
lighted  candles.  Upon  the  table,  on  a  large  tray,  is  a 
coffee  machine,  with  its  accessories,  sugar  basin,  cups, 
and  spoons. 

The  season  is  February,  bitterly  cold.  The  time  is 
early  evening. 

Beside  the  hearth,  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  Lydia  sits 
knitting.  With  the  passing  of  the  months  she  has  aged 
and  thinned.  The  Professor  cowers  on  the  sofa,  with  a 
gray  shawl  over  his  stooping  shoulders.  In  the  rear 
window  stands  Gertrude,  looking  down  into  the  street. 
She  wears  over  her  house  dress  a  knitted  jacket.  All 
three  have  the  air  of  people  worn  out  with  anxiety  and 
grief  and  apathetic  with  despair.  Only  Gertrude  blazes 
with  rebellion.  From  the  street  sounds  monotonously 
the  roll  of  the  wheels  of  heavy  artillery.  After  a  mo 
ment  the  Professor  speaks. 

PROFESSOR.     Are  they  still  marching  by? 
GERTRUDE.     Don't  you  hear  the  wheels  of  the  artil 
lery? 

41 


42  Moloch 

PROFESSOR.     The  foreigners,  in  our  city! 

LYDIA.     How  can  you  bear  to  watch  them? 

GERTRUDE.  I  want  to  see  the  guns  that  finished  us. 
Do  you  remember  how  we  stood  at  the  window,  eight 
months  ago?  How  we  cheered  and  threw  flowers? 

LYDIA.     It  was  the  day  that  Basil  went  to  the  front. 

GERTRUDE.  The  war  was  to  end  in  six  weeks.  We 
believed  it.  Fools! 

LYDIA.     I've  dropped  another  stitch. 

GERTRUDE  [going  to  her,  with  compunction].  How 
can  you  knit,  and  your  hands  so  cold? 

LYDIA.     It  takes  up  my  mind. 

GERTRUDE.     I'll  fix  the  fire. 

[She  kneels  on  the  hearth,  and  lays  on  the  coal,  a 
piece  at  a  time,  lifting  the  pieces  with  a  bit  of  news 
paper,  in  order  to  do  it  without  noise.] 

PROFESSOR.  Yes,  the  room  is  shockingly  cold.  Dear, 
dear!  [Sits  by  the  hearth.] 

LYDIA.     Carefully,  Gertrude.     Don't  waste  the  coal! 

GERTRUDE.  What's  the  sense  of  saving  coal  to  warm 
those  foreign  brutes?  [Rises.]  Let's  be  comfortable 
for  an  hour.  We  may  not  live  any  longer.  [Goes  to 
the  window,  front.] 

PROFESSOR.  Non-combatants  in  an  undefended  town ! 
The  invaders  are  bound  by  every  usage  of  civilized  war 
fare — 

GERTRUDE.  What's  civilized  warfare  got  to  do  with 
it?  Still  marching!  No  end  to  them.  We  used  to 
laugh  at  them  for  playing  soldier.  Playing  soldier !  It 
was  we  that  played.  They  made  a  business  of  it. 

LYDIA.  But  God  is  on  our  side.  We  must  triumph 
in  the  end. 

GERTRUDE.  Phil  said:  Either  arm,  or  stop  talking 
war.  We  wouldn't  arm,  but  we  liked  to  talk.  And 
there  are  the  foreigners  marching  through  our  streets. 
They'll  be  quartered  under  our  roof.  They'll  be  — 

LYDIA.     Hush !     Listen ! 


Moloch  43 

GERTRUDE.     What  is  it? 

LYDIA.     Go  to  the  door.     I  heard  the  bell  ring. 

GERTRUDE.  Why,  it  can't  be,  Mother.  They 
wouldn't  ring.  And  no  one  else  would  come. 

[The  door  bell  rings. ] 

LYDIA.     I  said  so! 

[Katherine  comes  from  the  writing  room,  drawing  the 
curtains  close  behind  her.  She  wears  a  knitted  coat  over 
her  house  dress.] 

KATHERINE.  Some  one  is  ringing.  Didn't  you 
hear?  The  noise  will  wake  Roland.  [Comes  into  par 
lor.]  They  must  come  in. 

GERTRUDE.     I'll  go  down. 

KATHERINE.     No.     You'd  better  let  me. 

[Katherine  goes  out  at  the  forward  door.  The  bell 
rings  again.] 

PROFESSOR  [querulously].     Where  has  she  gone? 

LYDIA.     Listen ! 

PROFESSOR.     There  is  a  draught  from  that  door. 

GERTRUDE.  Please  be  quiet,  Uncle.  [Goes  to  the 
door.]  There  is  some  one  crying.  I  can  hear  them  on 
the  stairs. 

MARGARET  [outside ,  sobbing].  I'm  so  glad  to  find 
somebody.  I'm  so  glad. 

GERTRUDE.     Why,  it's  Margaret. 

[Katherine  comes  in  again,  supporting  Margaret,  very 
pale,  in  a  plain  hat  and  loose  dark  cloak.  Gertrude 
closes  the  door  after  they  have  entered.] 

MARGARET.     Oh,  let  me  stay  here !     Let  me  stay ! 

KATHERINE.  What  else  should  you  do?  Only  don't 
cry,  silly!  You'll  wake  up  Roland.  Let  us  help  you 
out  of  your  things.  [Takes  off  her  cloak.]  There's  a 
little  coffee  left,  Gertrude.  Start  the  machine ! 

[Gertrude,  at  back  of  table,  starts  the  coffee  machine. 
Katherine  sits  by  Margaret  on  the  sofa.  It  is  now  seen 
that  Margaret  wears  on  her  left  arm  a  Red  Cross  band 
and  that  her  hand  rests,  bandaged,  in  a  sling.] 


44  Moloch 

LYDIA.     We  thought  you  were  still  at  St.  Mary's. 

KATHERINE.     When  did  you  leave  the  hospital? 

MARGARET.  There  isn't  any  hospital  any  more. 
They  dropped  bombs  into  St.  Mary's  night  before  last. 
I  got  my  arm  burned,  helping  to  carry  out  our  wounded 
men.  We  couldn't  get  them  all.  [Sobs.]  We  couldn't 
get  them  all. 

KATHERINE.     Don't,   dear!     You  mustn't.     Don't! 

MARGARET.  I  wasn't  any  use,  with  only  one  arm. 
So  I  started.  It  was  the  last  train  into  town.  Last 
night  that  was.  But  now  —  there's  no  way  to  get  out. 

KATHERINE.     Yes.     It's  too  late  now. 

MARGARET.  But  why  have  you  stayed  on?  I 
couldn't  believe  my  eyes,  when  I  looked  up  and  saw 
Gertrude  at  the  window. 

KATHERINE.     Roland  has  been  sick. 

LYDIA.     With  typhoid,  yes.     We  couldn't  move  him. 

KATHERINE.  But  you  —  you  ought  to  have  gone, 
Mother. 

LYDIA.  Where?  The  enemy  hold  the  north. 
They're  probably  stabling  their  horses  in  our  parlor 
now.  Cutting  down  Rob's  young  trees  to  build  their 
fires. 

KATHERINE.  Mother,  you're  shivering.  [Rises.] 
I'll  bring  more  coal. 

GERTRUDE.     Let  me,  Kate! 

KATHERINE.     No,  you  did  it  last  time. 

[Katherine  goes  out  with  the  coal  scuttle  at  the  rear 
door  left.] 

MARGARET.     The  servants  have  all  left  you? 

LYDIA.     Yes.     Martha  was  the  last. 

MARGARET.     Why,  I  never  thought  that  Martha  — 

GERTRUDE.  She  had  to  go  to  help  her  sister.  There 
was  a  baby  coming.  She's  been  gone  a  month. 

MARGARET.     I  hope  it  wasn't  to  the  north  she  went. 

GERTRUDE.     Yes.     It  was. 

MARGARET.     And  have  you  any  word  of  —  Robert  ? 


Moloch  45 

GERTRUDE.  He  is  on  the  battle-line  in  the  west. 
They  have  made  him  a  major.  He  has  the  medal  of 
honor. 

MARGARET.     And  —  and  — 

GERTRUDE.  Basil?  No.  No  word  in  three  months. 
Not  since  the  river  fight. 

LYDIA  [in  a  strained  voice'].  Once,  in  his  first  cam 
paign,  I  was  seven  months  without  a  word  from  your 
father.  Seven  whole  months ! 

MARGARET.     Missing?    Not  that!    Anything  but  that! 

[Gertrude  sits  beside  her,  comforting.] 

LYDIA.  Missing?  Why,  it  means  no  more  than  that 
a  man  is  held  a  prisoner,  or  maybe  wounded  in  some  field 
hospital.  I've  lived  through  two  wars.  I  know  what 
I'm  talking  about. 

[Katherine  comes  in  again  with  the  coal.] 

KATHERINE.  We  must  try  to  make  this  coal  last  till 
midnight.  [Lays  on  a  few  pieces,  carefully  and 
quietly.] 

GERTRUDE  [going  to  the  machine].  It's  lucky  we 
have  the  big  lamp  to  help  out. 

KATHERINE.  Yes.  There's  still  a  barrel  of  oil  be 
low. 

MARGARET  [rising].     Shall  I  draw  the  curtains? 

GERTRUDE.  No,  no!  The  orders  are  that  windows 
shall  be  lighted  and  unscreened. 

KATHERINE  [rising].     Isn't  the  coffee  ready? 

GERTRUDE  [filling  cup].  I'm  afraid  it's  barely  luke 
warm. 

MARGARET.     No  matter ! 

GERTRUDE.  Here's  the  sugar.  [Gives  cup  to  Kath 
erine.] 

KATHERINE  [carrying  the  cup  to  Margaret,  at  the 
right].  I'm  sorry  there's  no  condensed  milk  to  spare. 
But  we  have  to  keep  it  all  for  Roland. 

GERTRUDE.  They'll  take  it  when  they  come.  You'll 
see  they  will,  the  brutes! 


46  Moloch 

KATHERINE.  What's  the  good  of  it,  Gertrude? 
They're  here  in  the  town.  Any  minute  they'll  be  in  this 
house. 

MARGARET.  Oh!  [Lets  the  cup  fall.]  They're 
here  —  this  minute !  Look !  Look ! 

KATHERINE.     Be  quiet!     What  is  it? 

MARGARET  [pointing].     The  door! 

[Slowly  the  rear  door  at  left  is  pushed  open  and 
Martha  comes  in.  Her  dark  dress  and  coarse  shoes  are 
muddied  and  a  little  disordered.  Her  hair  is  a  little 
displaced.  Her  hat  is  broken.  She  is  very  quiet,  only 
her  eyes  are  a  little  too  bright.] 

GERTRUDE.     Why,  Martha! 

KATHERINE.  Blessed  woman!  Where  did  you  come 
from? 

MARTHA.  I  came  in  by  the  back  way,  as  usual, 
ma'am.  Shan't  I  cook  you  some  dinner?  I  have  come 
back  to  stay,  if  you  please. 

KATHERINE.  But  how  did  you  ever  get  here?  [Sits 
at  left  of  table.]  With  the  enemy  filling  the  roads  — 

MARTHA.  I  came  on  a  train.  Then  I  walked.  I 
have  come  back.  There  is  no  meat  in  the  larder,  but  I 
can  make  a  soup  of  tinned  things. 

LYDIA.  I  can't  understand.  Where  did  you  leave 
your  sister  ? 

MARTHA  [pleasantly].  Oh,  I  haven't  any  sister. 
Look  here !  [From  her  bosom  takes  a  child's  little  knit 
ted  glove.]  That's  Patty's  glove,  my  little  niece  with 
the  pretty  curls.  I  made  it  myself  for  her.  We  heard 
in  the  morning  that  the  foreigners  were  coming  into 
the  town.  A  bomb  fell  right  in  our  street  and  tore 
an  old  man's  arm  off.  Sister  took  the  baby.  It 
was  two  weeks  old.  I  took  Patty.  She  had  her 
doll  in  her  arms.  We  got  onto  a  tram.  We  was 
trying  to  get  the  station.  They  said  there  still  were 
trains  — 

KATHERINE.     Don't  try  to  tell  us,  Martha!     Don't! 


Moloch  47 

MARTHA.  Why  not?  I  tell  it  over  to  myself  all  day 
and  all  night.  There  was  a  bomb  struck  a  house. 
Patty  cried.  I  can  feel  her  little  arms  round  my  neck. 
There  was  another  bomb,  and  the  tram  opened  up,  just 
like  a  paper  box  when  you  hit  it.  You  know  how  'tis  at 
the  butcher's  shop,  all  sort  of  red  and  shapeless  and 
dripping?  Well,  it  was  like  that  where  my  sister  had 
been,  with  the  baby.  I  just  took  Patty  and  I  ran.  I 
had  her  tight  by  the  hand,  and  I  could  see  the  station 
at  the  end  of  the  street.  Then  I  heard  'em  screaming 
that  the  soldiers  were  coming,  and  horses  galloping,  and 
I  fell,  and  the  crowd  wqnt  over  me.  When  I  got  up,  I 
had  Patty's  glove  in  my  hand.  But  I  couldn't  find  her. 
I  kept  asking  folks  if  they'd  seen  a  little  girl,  with  curls 
and  a  doll  in  her  arms.  I  kept  asking  till  the  houses 
began  to  burn.  Then  I  came  away.  That's  all  that's 
left  of  my  sister  and  Patty  and  the  little  baby.  Funny 
to  think  of,  isn't  it?  [Puts  the  glove  back  in  her 
bosom.']  Now  I'll  get  dinner. 

KATHERINE  [going  to  her].  Listen,  Martha!  You 
must  go  to  your  room  —  your  old  room.  I'll  bring  some 
thing  that  you  must  take.  You  must  sleep. 

[The  door  bell  rings  furiously.] 

MARGARET  [screaming].     Oh!     Oh! 

GERTRUDE.     They've  come ! 

[Heavy  knocking  on  the  door  below.] 

KATHERINE.  Yes.  At  last.  They  mustn't  make 
that  noise.  [Starts  to  the  door.] 

MARTHA.  You  can't  demean  yourself,  ma'am.  I'll 
go  to  the  door. 

[Martha  goes  out  at  the  forward  door  left.  An  in 
stant  of  silence  and  strained  listening.  Then  renewed 
beating  on  the  door.] 

GERTRUDE.     Oh!     And  we're  helpless!     Helpless! 

MARGARET  [half  screaming].     I'm  afraid  —  afraid! 

KATHERINE.  Pull  yourself  together!  Remember 
what  race  you  belong  to.  Stop  it  now ! 


48  Moloch 

PROFESSOR.  Non-combatants  —  our  rights  are  clear 
and  unviolable.  The  law  of  nations  — 

THE  CORPORAL  [outside].  Make  now  an  end  of  that! 
I  go  where  I  shall  damn  please. 

[Enter  at  the  forward  door  left,  shoving  Martha  be 
fore  him,  the  foreign  Corporal.  A  man  of  forty  odd,  in 
shabby  cavalry  uniform,  overcoat  and  gauntlets,  with  a 
carbine  slung  across  his  back.  No  villain,  just  a  coarse, 
common  man,  capable  of  rough  geniality,  even  of  rough 
kindliness.  Just  now,  cold,  tired,  and  hungry,  he  shows 
few  signs  of  either  quality.] 

CORPORAL.     Trot  in  and  announce  me,  old  girl! 

[Katherine  steps  between  him  and  Martha,  who  re 
treats  to  the  right.] 

KATHERINE.     You  are  billeted  here,  I  suppose? 

CORPORAL  [handing  her  a  paper].  You  can  bet  we 
are.  The  Lieutenant,  me,  the  Corporal,  and  three  of 
our  men.  [Crosses  to  Martha.]  Hurry  up,  old  girl! 
We  want  grub  and  plenty  of  it,  too.  Oh,  you'll  get  your 
taste,  do  not  be  afraid.  We're  not  risking  a  dose  o'  rat 
poison  in  our  porridge.  [Pulling  off  his  gauntlets.] 
May  as  well  bring  us  up  also  a  bottle  or  two  of  wine. 
The  old  chap  has  some  down  in  the  cellar. 

PROFESSOR  [rising].     What! 

CORPORAL.  Oh,  you  cannot  fool  me !  I  was  foreman 
in  a  shop  on  the  next  street,  until  the  war  broke  out. 

KATHERINE.  Martha,  cook  enough  for  five  men.  As 
quickly  as  possible. 

MARTHA.     Yes,  ma'am. 

[Martha  goes  out  at  the  rear  door,  left.] 

CORPORAL.     Is  this  your  warmest  room? 

KATHERINE.     Yes. 

CORPORAL.  ,  Well,  it  is  not  quite  so  cold  as  out  o' 
doors.  If  it's  the  best  you  got,  why,  you  can  vacate. 
Clear  out,  I  mean.  You  to  the  cock-loft.  The  Lieuten 
ant  must  have  this  room. 

PROFESSOR.     My  good  man  — 


Moloch  49 

KATHERINE.     Uncle ! 

PROFESSOR.  Let  me  point  out  to  you  that  these 
women  — 

CORPORAL.  Shut  up,  you  old  idiot!  I  had  enough 
of  your  gab  last  year,  drifting  into  your  popular  lectures 
down  the  street  here.  Survival  of  the  fittest,  that's 
what  you  were  preaching.  And  the  fit  survive,  because 
they  get  the  fire  and  the  grub.  That  is  logic,  eh? 

LYDIA  [rising],     Charles!     Come! 

[Lydia  and  the  Professor  go  out  at  the  rear  door  left. 
Margaret  follows  after  them,  shrinking,  with  her  eyes  on 
the  Corporal.] 

CORPORAL.  Look  here,  you  don't  need  to  make  like 
that,  my  girl.  I  am  no  bold,  bad  ravisher.  None  of  us 
are.  We  want  the  grub,  and  to  get  warmed  up.  God! 
We've  seen  women  enough  a'ready.  [Gertrude  puts  her 
arm  about  Margaret  and  leads  her  to  the  door.  The 
Corporal  spies  the  coffee  machine  and  pounces  upon  it.] 
Hey!  What's  this?  Coffee?  Ah,  the  blamed  stuff  is 
cold.  [To  Katherine.]  Hold  on,  you! 

[Margaret  hurries  out  rear  door  left.  Katherine 
pauses  on  stair  to  writing  room.  Gertrude  runs  to  her.] 

GERTRUDE.     Katherine ! 

KATHERINE.  Go  stay  with  Roland.  He  might  be 
frightened.  Go  to  him.  I'm  all  right.  [Gertrude  goes 
into  writing  room.  Katherine  comes  to  the  table.]  Yes, 
the  coffee  is  cold.  Wait  and  I'll  warm  it  up. 

CORPORAL.  Hurry  up,  then.  Want  it  hot  and  plenty 
when  the  Lieutenant  comes.  Got  to  treat  him  nicely. 
[Saunters  leisurely  toward  the  hearth.]  Kid  from  the 
War  School.  A  fine  chap,  oh  yes!  But  he's  so  newly 
hatched  lieutenant,  the  shell  is  still  sticking  to  him.  In 
Heaven's  name!  Do  you  call  that  then  a  fire? 
[Catches  up  coal  scuttle.] 

KATHERINE.     Stop ! 

CORPORAL.     Huh? 

KATHERINE.     Don't  make  a  noise!     [Goes  to  him.] 


50  Moloch 

I've  got  a  sick  child  in  that  room.  Put  the  scuttle  down. 
I'll  lay  on  the  coal  myself. 

CORPORAL.  Damn  foolishness !  I  can't  wait  all  day. 
Let  go  there ! 

[Katherine  clings  to  the  scuttle,  facing  him,  defiant. 
The  forward  door  at  left  is  flung  open  noisily  and  the 
Lieutenant  comes  in,  followed  by  a  Trooper.  The  Lieu 
tenant  is  about  twenty,  a  slender  young  fellow,  unshaven, 
sunken-eyed,  haggard  with  exhaustion.  He  staggers  as 
he  enters.] 

CORPORAL  [going  to  him].     Here!     Let  me,  sir! 

LIEUTENANT.  You  do  not  need  to  hold  my  arm. 
[Moves  unsteadily  toward  the  sofa.]  It  is  twenty  years 
about  since  I  was  last  a  baby. 

CORPORAL.  You  go  down  the  stairs  and  make  some 
fires  burn.  [Trooper  salutes  and  goes  out  rear  door 
left.  Katherine  kneels  and  replenishes  her  fire.  The 
Lieutenant  wavers  where  he  has  halted.  The  Corporal 
catches  him.]  Will  you  please  sit  down,  sir?  [Puts 
him  on  the  sofa.]  Shall  I  pull  off  your  boots? 

LIEUTENANT.  Damn  it,  no!  You  touch  me,  and  I 
think  I  break  to  pieces  like  an  icicle.  This  damned 
country ! 

CORPORAL  [to  Katherine].     Have  you  brandy? 

KATHERINE.  I've  no  more  left.  But  I'll  have  the 
coffee  ready  in  a  minute. 

LIEUTENANT.  To  hell  with  your  brandy!  It  is  al 
ways  brandy  that  you  say.  I  do  not  want  brandy.  I 
want  only  to  be  warm.  And  a  little  while  to  sleep. 

CORPORAL.  You  stretch  out  here,  sir.  I'll  bring 
some  blankets. 

LIEUTENANT.  Curse  your  soul!  How  can  I  sleep? 
There  are  the  horses.  Stable  inspection.  [Painfully 
he  tries  to  draw  the  gauntlets  from  his  half  frozen 
hands.] 

CORPORAL.  Just  stay  here  quiet,  sir,  and  leave  things 
to  me.  Let  me  pull  off  those  gauntlets. 


Moloch  51 

LIEUTENANT.  Look  here !  I  am  not  a  baby.  Clear 
out,  will  you? 

CORPORAL  [saluting].     Yes,  sir. 

[ The  Corporal  goes  out  at  the  forward  door  left.] 

LIEUTENANT.  He  is  a  great  fool.  Because  his 
mother  nursed  me  he  thinks  —  Well,  where  is  that  cof 
fee? 

KATHERINE  [going  to  the  table].  I  think  it's  ready. 
[As  she  moves  the  cups  she  makes  a  slight  noise.] 

LIEUTENANT  [turning  quickly].  Place  that  machine 
at  the  other  end  of  the  table! 

KATHERINE  [moving  the  tray].  Certainly.  Would 
you  mind  telling  me  why? 

LIEUTENANT.  Because  ladies  of  your  country  have 
sometimes,  in  their  playfulness,  spilt  blazing  alcohol 
upon  men  of  ours  with  their  backs  turned,  and  given 
them  by  mistake  hydrochloride  solution  instead  of  wa 
ter. 

KATHERINE.  Do  you  know  men  to  whom  such  things 
have  happened? 

LIEUTENANT.  I  know  men  who  know  men  to  whom  it 
has  happened.  And  I  have  read  in  our  newspapers. 
[Again  he  wrestles  with  his  gauntlets,  but  desists  with  a 
gasp  of  pain.]  Ah!  [Katherine  fills  a  cup  with  cof 
fee.]  Oh,  I  am  not  scared,  you  know.  Give  me  that 
coffee ! 

KATHERINE.     It's  pretty  hot.     You  can't  drink  it  yet. 

LIEUTENANT.  This  rotten  country.  [His  head 
droops.] 

[Katherine  looks  at  him,  and  sees  no  more  than  a  tired, 
half-frozen,  miserable  boy.  Obviously,  if  he  were  a 
very  little  younger,  he  would  cry  outright.  She  sur 
renders  to  the  eternal  mother  in  her.] 

KATHERINE.  I  can  cool  your  coffee  with  some  con 
densed  milk.  [Going  to  the  bookcase,  she  takes  a  can 
from  behind  the  books.] 

LIEUTENANT     [feebly    lifting    his    head].     That's    a 


52  Moloch 

funny  place  to  keep  milk.  [Begins  again  to  work  off  his 
gauntlets.'] 

KATHERINE.  I  have  kept  it  for  my  boy  that  is  sick. 
Kept  it  hidden.  [Puts  milk  into  the  coffee.]  Sugar? 

LIEUTENANT.  Two  lumps.  [Convention  asserts  it 
self.]  Please! 

KATHERINE  [coming  to  him].     Can  you  hold  the  cup? 

LIEUTENANT.  My  fingers  —  they  are  like  sticks  of 
wood. 

KATHERINE.  I'll  hold  it  for  you.  [Sets  the  cup  to 
his  lips.]  Not  too  hot? 

LIEUTENANT.  No.  It's  fine.  Go  slow!  [He 
drinks,  then  pauses,  looking  up  at  her.]  Tell  me!  You 
are  maybe  after  all  on  our  side  ?  Some  of  the  folks  are, 
secretly. 

KATHERINE.  Oh,  no !  My  husband  is  at  the  front. 
Have  some  more? 

LIEUTENANT.  Yes.  [Drinks,  then  pauses.]  I  had 
forgot,  you  know.  My  cap>  on  in  the  house.  [He 
makes  a  futile  effort  to  remove  it  with  his  numbed  hand.] 

KATHERINE.     Shall  I  take  it  off? 

LIEUTENANT.     Yes.     Please! 

[Katherine  removes  his  cap,  and  lays  it  on  the  table, 
then  pours  another  cup  of  coffee.] 

KATHERINE.     Shall  we  get  you  something  to  eat? 

LIEUTENANT.  I  got  my  throat  sore  clear  into  my 
ears.  I  can't  swallow  food  at  all.  You  know,  you  do 
not  want  to  think  they  all  go  to  pieces  in  our  army  like 
me.  It  is  not  a  month  I  have  been  at  the  front.  Pretty 
soon  I  get  used  to  it. 

KATHERINE.  Hold  the  cup  in  your  hands.  It  will 
thaw  out  your  fingers.  Can  you  stand  it? 

LIEUTENANT.  Yes.  Won't  you  —  won't  you  sit 
down? 

KATHERINE.  Thank  you.  [Takes  a  chair,  sits  at  a 
little  distance.] 

LIEUTENANT  [drinking  coffee  throughout].    We  aren't, 


Moloch  53 

you  know,  really  brutes.  But  you  treat  us  like  we 
are,  and  think  we  are,  then  we  are.  Perhaps  if  we'd 
met  before  the  war  —  and  that  isn't  yet  a  year  ago  —  we 
might  have  been  nice  and  polite  to  each  other,  and 
maybe  friends.  Funny,  isn't  it? 

KATHERINE.  So  funny  that  I  think  the  angels  cry 
over  the  joke  of  it. 

LIEUTENANT.  I  came  pretty  near  coming  to  your 
country  last  spring  on  vacation.  Might  have  come  to 
this  very  town.  I  had  a  cousin  was  staying  here  — 

[First  Trooper  comes  in  again,  with  a  bucket  of  coal.] 

LIEUTENANT.     Well,  what  is  it,  then? 

FIRST  TROOPER.  Shan't  I  fix  the  fire,  sir?  [Starts 
to  throw  on  coal.] 

KATHERINE.     Please  don't  make  a  noise! 

LIEUTENANT.  You  hear  the  lady,  blockhead!  Lay 
on  the  coals,  one  piece  at  a  time,  like  she  wants. 

FIRST  TROOPER.  Yes,  sir.  [Kneels  and  replenishes 
the  fire.] 

LIEUTENANT.     You  are  here  alone  in  the  house? 

KATHERINE.  There  are  four  other  women  and  an  old 
man. 

LIEUTENANT.     Where  are  they,  then? 

KATHERINE.     Upstairs. 

LIEUTENANT.     Are  there  fires  upstairs? 

KATHERINE.     No. 

LIEUTENANT.  You,  there!  You  will  go  upstairs  and 
give  to  the  ladies  my  compliments.  Say  they  are  wel 
come  to  use  here  the  room  that  is  warm.  Be  civil ! 

[First  Trooper  salutes  and  goes  out  at  the  rear  door 
left.] 

KATHERINE  [rising].     Thank  you! 

LIEUTENANT  [rising].  We  aren't,  you  see,  brutes,  any 
more  than  your  own  men  are,  maybe.  See  here !  I 
think  now  I  can  hold  a  pen.  I  will  write  a  paper  that 
you  stick  on  your  door.  It  will  help  you  maybe. 

KATHERINE.     You're  good. 


54  Moloch 

LIEUTENANT.  You  are  the  first  woman,  of  the  sort  I 
have  known  at  my  mother's,  to  speak  decent  to  me  in 
four  weeks.  Oh,  I  get  used  to  it.  We  are  doing  what 
is  right.  What  our  country  orders,  it  is  always  right. 
But  a  chap  doesn't  like  the  kids  to  cry  when  they  see  his 
uniform.  There's  pen  and  ink  there? 

KATHERINE  [going  to  the  secretary].  Oh  yes.  And 
here's  paper.  [Lights  candles  on  the  secretary.]  Are 
you  sure  you  can  manage  ? 

LIEUTENANT  [sitting  at  the  secretary].  Yes.  I  don't 
need  to  write  much.  And  I  am  pretty  near  thawed  out. 
Only  now  I  am  sleepy.  [Writes.] 

GERTRUDE  [entering  from  the  writing  room].  Kath- 
erine ! 

KATHERINE.  Come  in!  [Goes  to  her.]  It's  all 
right.  He's  a  decent  little  chap.  It's  all  right. 

LIEUTENANT.     Have  you  please  a  blotter? 

KATHERINE  [re-arranging  the  coffee  tray].  Three  or 
four  of  them  on  the  desk. 

LIEUTENANT.  Yes,  I  find  them.  Hello!  [Takes 
up  a  framed  photograph.]  What  is  this  picture? 

KATHERINE.  An  old  friend  of  ours.  He  was  your 
fellow-countryman. 

LIEUTENANT  [rising].  He  is  also  my  cousin  that  I 
told  you  of. 

GERTRUDE.  You  are  Phil's  cousin?  [Runs  to  him.] 
Where  is  he?  What's  become  of  him?  Is  he  alive? 
Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  tell  me,  tell  me ! 

LIEUTENANT.  You  are  maybe  the  girl  he  wrote  of 
once? 

GERTRUDE.  Yes,  yes.  I'm  that  girl  —  his  girl.  I 
know  that  now.  Only  I  was  such  a  fool.  Where  is  he? 
Oh,  he  isn't  —  dead? 

LIEUTENANT.  No.  That  is  —  I  heard  last  from  him 
three  months  ago.  He  was  serving  with  the  aviation 
corps. 

KATHERINE.     You  mean  he  is  fighting? 


Moloch  55 

LIEUTENANT.  To  be  sure,  yes.  What  else  does  a 
man  do,  when  his  country  needs  him? 

GERTRUDE.  That's  just  what  I  told  him,  here  in  this 
room.  I  remember.  Yes. 

LIEUTENANT.     He  volunteered,  and  he  is  now  officer. 

KATHERINE.  And  what  about  his  work?  The  cure 
for  cancer? 

LIEUTENANT.  Oh,  there  isn't  now  time  for  things  like 
that.  He  must  fight. 

GERTRUDE.  Yes.  Don't  you  understand?  Of  course 
he  must  fight.  And  it  doesn't  matter  —  who  he  fights. 
He's  mine.  I'm  his.  And  I'm  waiting  for  him,  just  as 
he  begged  me  to  wait.  Oh,  he  must  know  it.  Where  is 
he?  Where  can  I  write  to  him? 

LIEUTENANT.  I  cannot  tell  you.  We  do  not  ever  tell 
what  will  make  people  know  where  our  different  troops 
are  stationed.  But  I  can  send  a  letter  maybe  for  you. 

GERTRUDE.  Oh,  please !  Please !  I  must  tell  him. 
You  promise  you'll  send  it?  You  promise? 

LIEUTENANT.     As  sure  as  I  live. 

[Lydia,  Margaret,  and  the  Professor  come  in  at  the 
rear  door  left.'] 

GERTRUDE.     You  darling! 

[For  the  last  hour  she  has  been  on  the  edge  of  hyster 
ics.  Now  she  falls  over  the  edge  and  kisses  the  Lieuten 
ant.] 

LYDIA.     Gertrude!     Have  you  gone  crazy? 

GERTRUDE.  Oh,  it's  all  right.  He's  going  to  be  re 
lated  by  marriage.  He's  Phil's  cousin.  And  I'm  going 
to  write  to  Phil  this  minute.  [Gertrude  sits  at  the  sec 
retary.  The  Professor  sits  by  the  hearth,  Margaret 
stands  near  him,  Lydia  is  on  the  sofa,  with  her  eyes  riv 
eted  to  the  Lieutenant,  who,  not  unnaturally  embarrassed, 
has  turned  away  and  is  lighting  a  cigarette  at  the  desk 
candle. ~\  How  long  will  it  be  before  he  gets  it?  O 
Phil!  My  own  dear!  It's  all  coming  right  at  last. 
It's  all  coming  right! 


56  Moloch 

[Gertrude  writes  rapidly,  her  face  in  the  candlelight 
seraphic  with  content.  The  Lieutenant  turns  and  faces 
Lydia.  She  gravely  inclines  her  head.  He  bows.] 

LYDIA.     You  —  are  their  leader  ? 

LIEUTENANT.     Yes,,  Madam. 

LYDIA.     You  are  —  not  very  old. 

[KATHERINE  proffers  an  ash-tray.] 

LIEUTENANT.     Thanks !     I  think  I  do  not  smoke. 

KATHERINE.  You  look  done  out.  Can't  you  lie  down 
a  bit? 

LIEUTENANT.  I  ought  to  keep  afoot,  I  think,  till  my 
corporal  reports. 

[Martha  comes  in  at  the  rear  door,  left,  with  a  tray, 
on  which  are  two  cups.] 

MARTHA  [going  to  Lydia].  Here  is  hot  soup,  ma'am. 
I  made  it  for  you  and  the  Profes  — 

[Her  voice  trails  off  as  she  sees  the  Lieutenant. 
Lydia  waves  aside  the  cup.  Martha  gives  a  cup  to  the 
Professor.] 

KATHERINE  [going  toward  the  writing  room].  You 
could  lie  down  on  the  couch  in  the  inner  room.  It  is 
quite  warm.  My  boy  is  asleep  there.  Why,  you  trust 
us,  don't  you? 

LIEUTENANT  [going  to  her].  I  trust  you.  It  is  two 
nights  I  have  not  shut  my  eyes.  I  think  I  will. 

[Martha  goes  out,  rear  door,  left,  with  a  last  glance  at 
the  Lieutenant.] 

LIEUTENANT.  You  are  that  lady  —  Katherine  —  my 
cousin  wrote  about? 

KATHERINE.     I'm  Katherine,  yes. 

LIEUTENANT.  Was  I  pretty  beastly  at  first?  I'm 
—  tired.  I  don't  quite  remember. 

KATHERINE.  You'll  feel  better  when  you  wake. 
Good  rest.  [Holds  out  her  hand.] 

LIEUTENANT  [kissing  her  hand].  Yes.  That's  what 
I  want.  Rest! 

[The   Lieutenant   goes   into   the   writing   room.     The 


Moloch  57 

curtains  close  upon  him.  Lydia,  on  the  sofa,  takes  up. 
and  fondles  his  gauntlets.  Presently  she  cries  silently.] 

PROFESSOR  [querulously].  This  soup  is  weak. 
[Margaret  takes  his  cup  and  sets  it  on  mantle.] 
Thanks !  But  it  is  good  to  see  Martha  moving  about. 

KATHERINE.  Why,  Mother!  Mother!  [Goes  to 
Lydia.]  You're  not  crying?  Oh,  no!  That  isn't  like 
you. 

LYDIA.  He  made  me  think  of  Basil.  The  same  age 
—  the  cavalry  uniform.  He  looked  so  tired !  So  cold ! 

0  God !     My  little  boy  —  somewhere  —  tired,  cold,  suf 
fering  !     My  little  boy !     Send  him  home  to  me,  God ! 
That's  all  I  ask.     That's  all  I'll  ever  ask.     Send  him 
home!     Dear   God!     [Sobs.] 

KATHERINE.     Oh,  hush,  dear!     Hush! 

PROFESSOR.  Be  reasonable,  Lydia.  Only  compute 
how  many  people,  on  both  sides  of  the  frontier,  are 
praying  in  just  those  terms.  How  can  you  believe  that 
there  is  a  God  to  hear  and  — 

LYDIA.  Why  should  He  hear  the  foreigners?  Su 
perstitious  wretches !  They  don't  know  how  to  pray. 
But  we  have  always  served  God  and  fought  His  good 
fight.  He  will  listen  to  us.  He  must  listen.  Oh,  my 
little  boy !  Let  me  see  him  again.  Only  let  me  see  him. 
I'll  be  satisfied. 

MARGARET.     What  was  that? 

KATHERINE.     Listen,  Mother!     Please! 

MARGARET.     I  thought  I  heard  Roland  speak. 

KATHERINE.  Yes.  It  was  in  that  room.  [She  goes 
to  the  door  of  the  writing  room,  and  parts  the  curtains 
a  very  little.]  No.  It's  all  quiet.  It's  all  right. 
[Goes  to  Gertrude.]  How  are  you  coming  on,  Trudie? 

GERTRUDE.     I'm  the  happiest  girl  in  the  world.     And 

1  haven't  deserved  it. 

KATHERINE.     Dear !     Don't  be  too  — 
GERTRUDE.     Too  sure?     Why,  I'm  as  sure  of  Phil  as 
I  am  of  the  stars  in  Heaven.     If  he's  alive  —  and  he  is 


58  Moloch 

alive.  I  know  it.  I  feel  it.  And  when  he  gets  my  let 
ter —  Bless  that  little  lieutenant!  Bless  my  Phil! 
God  bless  us  every  one  this  night.  [Writes.] 

[The  Corporal  comes  in  at  the  left  forward  door.'] 

CORPORAL.     Well!     Where's  the  Lieutenant? 

KATHERINE.  He  is  lying  down  in  the  inner  room. 
[The  Corporal  starts  toward  the  writing  room.]  Must 
you  disturb  him? 

CORPORAL.  I'll  look  once  at  him.  [Parts  the  cur 
tains  slightly.]  Dark  in  there!  Give  us  here  a  candle. 
[Katherine  fetches  a  candle  from  the  secretary.]  He 
is,  you  see,  my  foster-brother,  and  my  old  woman,  she 
will  have  my  skin,  if  I  let  him  come  down  with  pneu 
monia. 

KATHERINE  [giving  him  the  candle].  Here  you  are! 
Go  softly,  won't  you? 

[The  Corporal  goes  into  the  writing  room.] 

PROFESSOR.  You  see,  it  is  as  I  assured  you.  There 
are  established  rules  of  warfare,  as  you  women  fail  to 
realize,  and  under  those  rules  — 

[The  Corporal  appears  in  the  doorway  of  the  writing 
room.  His  quietude  is  dreadful.  At  sight  of  him  the 
Professor  is  paralyzed  into  silence.] 

CORPORAL.     Which  of  you  did  it? 

[All  rise.  The  Corporal  thrusts  aside  the  curtains, 
between  which  he  is  standing.  The  interior  of  the  writ 
ing  room  is  disclosed,  under  the  flickering  light  of  the 
candle,  which  he  evidently  has  set  at  one  side.  Across 
the  wall,  where  formerly  stood  the  bookcases,  is  a  crib,  on 
which  lies  Roland,  cowering  beneath  the  bed-clothes. 
Diagonally,  head  to  the  crib,  is  drawn  a  couch,  upon 
which,  half  covered  with  a  rug,  lies  the  Lieutenant, 
stretched  upon  his  back,  with  one  arm  trailing  on  the 
floor.  There  is  a  dark  smear  across  his  throat,  and  upon 
the  pillow  and  the  sheet.] 

CORPORAL.     Come!     Speak  up! 

PROFESSOR   [babbling].     What,  what,  what! 


Moloch  59 

GERTRUDE.     O  my  God! 

KATHERINE  [in  a  suffocated  voice].  Roland!  Ro 
land!  [Rushes  to  the  writing  room.] 

CORPORAL  [intercepting  her,  grasping  her  arms]. 
No,  you  don't!  Make  a  man  to  lie  down  and  rest,  and 
he  trusting  you,  you  hell-cat! 

[Several  troopers  rush  into  the  room  by  the  door  left 
back.] 

KATHERINE  [shrieking].  Roland!  Roland!  Have 
they  killed  you,  too? 

FIRST  TROOPER.     What's  the  matter? 

CORPORAL.  Cut  the  Lieutenant's  throat,  and  he 
asleep. 

GERTRUDE  [rushing  to  Katherine's  aid].  No,  no! 
[Flings  herself  upon  the  Corporal.]  Let  go  of  her! 

ROLAND.     Mummy !     Mummy ! 

[Katherine  breaks  from  the  Corporal,  rushes  to  the 
crib,  and  lifts  Roland  in  her  arms.] 

KATHERINE.     Yes,  yes!     Mother's  here. 

ROLAND.     Don't  let  her  hurt  me!     I'm  afraid. 

KATHERINE.  Shut  your  eyes!  Don't  look,  dear! 
Don't  look!  [Brings  him  down  into  the  main  room.] 

ROLAND.  Why  did  she  do  it?  With  the  kitchen 
knife.  Why  did  Martha  do  it? 

GERTRUDE.     Martha ! 

ROLAND.  She  came  through  the  door.  O  Mummy! 
I'm  afraid. 

[Katherine  sits  on  the  sofa,  with  Roland  in  her  arms. 
Lydia  hurries  to  her,  and  puts  her  shawl  about  him. 
Katherine  drags  off  her  knitted  jacket  to  wrap  around 
the  child.] 

CORPORAL.     Call  in  the  patrol. 

FIRST  TROOPER.  Yes,  sir.  [Runs  to  window  right 
forward.] 

CORPORAL.     Find  that  other  woman! 

[Two  Troopers  go  out  through  the  writing  room.] 

FIRST    TROOPER.'     Hey!     They're    just    making    the 


60  Moloch 

rounds.  [Dashes  window  open.']  Hey,  come  in  here! 
If  you  please,,  sir.  [Turns  to  Corporal.}  It's  grand 
rounds,  sir. 

ROLAND.     I'm  cold,  Mummy. 

KATHERINE.  That  draught —  Oh,  close  the  win 
dow,  in  pity's  name! 

[The  Troopers  come  in  from  the  writing  room,  drag 
ging  Martha  between  them.} 

SECOND  TROOPER.     Here  she  is,  sir. 

LYDIA.  Martha!  You  couldn't  have  done  it.  No, 
no! 

ROLAND.     Oh,  I'm  afraid. 

[At  the  forward  door,  left,  come  in  two  Troopers, 
who  stand  aside  at  attention.  The  Foreign  Major  fol 
lows  them  in  —  a  tall,  thin  man,  pale- featured,  imper 
sonal  as  Death,  and  as  weary.} 

MAJOR.     Well?     What  is  now  here? 

CORPORAL.  Our  lieutenant,  sir,  murdered  while  he 
was  asleep.  There's  the  woman  did  it. 

MAJOR  [going  to  Martha}.  Have  you  anything  to 
say? 

MARTHA  [taking  the  child's  glove  from  her  bosom}. 
That  is  Patty's  giove  I  knitted.'  That  is  all.  My  sis 
ter,  the  little  baby,  Patty  —  all  three.  When  your  sol 
diers  came  into  our  town. 

MAJOR.     It  was  in  the  north,  your  town? 

MARTHA.     It  used  to  be. 

MAJOR.  The  man  you  killed  was  three  hundred  miles 
away  from  there.  You  were  stupid  to  do  this.  [Turns 
to  the  Troopers.}  Take  her  down  into  the  street. 
Shoot  her.  Let  the  neighbors  see. 

[The  two  last-comers  of  the  troopers  lay  hold  of 
Martha.} 

KATHERINE.  Oh,  no!  Can't  you  see  for  yourself 
that  she's  insane? 

MAJOR.     Take  her  along! 

MARTHA    [breaks  loose,  rushes   to  Lydia}.     No,   no, 


Moloch  61 

no!  I  wouldn't  so  much  as  kill  a  mouse.  You  know  I 
wouldn't.  [The  Troopers  seize  her  and  drag  her  to 
the  door.~\  No,  no!  I'm  afraid  of  the  guns.  Don't 
kill  me !  Oh,  oh !  The  guns !  Don't  kill  me !  No,  no, 
no! 

[The  Troopers  drag  Martha  out  at  the  forward  door, 
left.  The  door  goes  to  upon  her  cries.'] 

MAJOR.     Clear  the  house  at  once.     Then  burn  it. 

[At  a  sign  from  the  Corporal,  two  Troopers  go  into 
the  writing  room,  cover  the  body  of  the  Lieutenant 
with  a  sheet,  and  remove  the  couch,  with  the  body  upon 

».•] 

KATHERINE.     Where  are  we  to  go? 

MAJOR.  Outside  our  lines.  See  that  they  go! 
[Turns  away  to  the  door.]  It  is  merciful  we  do  not 
shoot  you  all. 

GERTRUDE  [running  to  him].  Oh!  Can't  you  see 
my  mother  is  old  —  and  the  little  boy  is  ill  —  and  this 
paper  —  he  left  this  paper.  See!  He  asked  that  we 
be  protected. 

MAJOR.  Yes.  You  have  killed  the  one  man  would 
have  saved  you.  Tear  up  your  paper  now.  In  three 
minutes.  Burn  the  house. 

[The  Major  goes  out  at  the  forward  door,  left.] 

KATHERINE.     Trudie!     Bring  shoes  for  Roland! 

CORPORAL.  No,  you  don't!  Right  as  you  stand,  all 
of  you.  Come  on  now!  [Comes  down  into  the  room.] 
Clear  the  house ! 

LYDIA  [rising].     No,  no!     The  boy  — 

PROFESSOR  [starting  feebly  to  snatch  down  the  sword 
from  beneath  the  picture].  My  father's  house  —  his 
sword!  I  will  not  go  alive! 

CORPORAL  [striking  him  contemptuously].  You 
damned  old  fool !  Get  out ! 

PROFESSOR  [broken].     O  my  God! 

LYDIA  [going  to  him].  That  is  foolish,  Charles. 
Before  you  were  right.  There  is  no  God.  Come! 


62  Moloch 

[Moving  with  dignity,  Lydia  leads  out  the  old  man  at 
the  left.  Margaret  hurries  after  them.] 

CORPORAL.     All  of  you! 

KATHERINE.     It  will  kill  my  boy. 

CORPORAL.  It  was  a  mother's  boy  you  killed  in  there. 
Will  you  get  out  ?  Or  shall  we  — 

FIRST  TROOPER  [at  the  •window'].  Hi!  They've  got 
her  up  against  the  wall.  She'll  get  it  now.  [From  the 
street  comes  Martha's  shriek.]  Damn  ye,  go  burn! 

[Simultaneously  with  the  shriek  and  his  cry,  sounds 
a  volley  of  rifles.] 

ROLAND.     Mummy !     Mummy ! 

KATHERINE.  Dear,  we'll  carry  you.  Come,  Ger 
trude  ! 

[Carrying  between  them  the  child,  huddled  in  the 
shawl  and  the  knitted  jacket,  the  two  women  move  to 
ward  the  door.] 

ROLAND.     I'm  so  cold,  Mummy!     I'm  so  cold! 

[As  Katherine  and  Gertrude  go  out,  forward  door, 
left,  with  Roland,  Troopers  rush  in  through  all  three 
doors.  First  Trooper  with  his  carbine  smashes  the  glass 
in  the  secretary.  Others  tear  down  the  hangings,  de 
molish  the  chairs,  smash  the  bookcases,  all  with  half  au 
dible  imprecations.  The  Corporal  directs  the  havoc.] 

CORPORAL.  Bring  more  petrol!  There's  a  barrel 
below.  Tear  down  that  rag.  It  will  make  a  blaze. 
We'll  show  them !  Hurry  up  that  petrol !  [A  Trooper 
tears  down  the  flag  from  beneath  the  picture  and  casts 
it  among  the  debris.  A  Third  Trooper  runs  in  with  a 
can  of  petrol,  which  he  pours  upon  the  mass.]  Kill  our 
men  sleeping,  damn  them! 

[With  his  carbine  the  Corporal  smashes  the  chande 
lier  above  the  table.  A  Fourth  Trooper  snatches  from 
the  hearth  blazing  coals  in  a  shovel  and  hurls  them  upon 
the  heap  of  broken  furniture. ~\ 

CURTAIN 


ACT   III 

The  little  farmstead,  which  has  been  seised  by  the 
advancing  army,  lies  close  to  the  firing  line.  At  the 
left  is  the  farmhouse,  a  small,  mean  building,  of  stone, 
with  casement  windows,  and  an  inset  porch,  from  which 
the  entrance  door  opens.  At  the  side  of  the  porch, 
nearer  the  audience,  is  a  bench,  on  which  stands  a  water- 
bucket.  Not  far  distant  is  a  rough  table,  fetched  from 
the  house,  with  a  stool  at  either  side,  and,  before  it,  a 
bench.  On  the  table  are  a  pad  of  paper,  several  pen 
cils,  a  map,  held  in  place  by  small  stones,  and  a  mug 
with  a  little  water.  Farther  back  is  a  tree,  the  branches 
of  which  overshadow  the  roof  of  the  house.  Across  the 
courtyard,  at  the  back,  runs  a  high  wall  of  brick,  with  a 
slight  coping  of  thatch,  which  is  pierced  at  the  centre 
by  a  wide  gateway.  Through  the  gateway  is  seen  a 
glimpse  of  rugged  autumn  country,  and  in  the  fore 
ground,  passing  the  gate,  a  heavy  road.  At  the  right  is 
an  open  shed.  Beneath  this  shed  is  a  ladder,  and  near 
by  a  heap  of  straw  and  a  few  broken  farm  implements. 
Toward  the  front  of  the  shed  is  a  table,  on  which  rest 
two  field- tele  phones.  Beside  it,  by  way  of  seat,  an  old 
box.  Between  the  shed  and  the  audience  is  a  lane, 
masked  by  a  clump  of  trees,  and  with  a  barred  gate  that 
stands  open. 

The  season  is  September.  Seven  months  have  passed 
since  the  town-house  burned.  The  time  is  late  after 
noon. 

At  the  left  of  the  table  the  Adjutant,  a  keen  young 
martinet  of  thirty,  is  busily  writing.  At  the  telephone, 

63 


64  Moloch 

with  the  headpiece  in  place,  sits  a  Sergeant,  a  heavily 
built  man  of  forty  odd.  Huddled  in  the  straw  beneath 
the  shed  lies  Thomas,  a  child  of  six  or  seven,  barefooted, 
in  a  soiled  smock  and  trousers,  with  a  white,  soiled  face. 
At  the  back,  by  the  gateway,  two  soldiers  are  on  sentry 
duty.  One  of  them  is  the  Woodsy  Boy,  a  different  be 
ing  in  his  stiff  uniform  and  service  boots.  He  is  gnaw 
ing  surreptitiously  at  a  piece  of  bread.  From  the  dis 
tance  comes  the  boom  of  heavy  guns,  heard  intermit 
tently  throughout  the  act. 

SERGEANT  [receiving  a  message"].  Yes,  sir.  This  is 
the  outpost  at  Crossways.  I'll  hold  the  line.  [To  Ad 
jutant.]  Headquarters,  sir.  They  want  the  Colonel. 

ADJUTANT  [to  First  Soldier].  Headquarters  calling. 
Tell  the  Colonel. 

FIRST  SOLDIER.  Yes,  sir.  [Turns  to  gateway.] 
He's  just  here. 

[Robert  comes  through  the  gateway.  He  wears  the 
shabby  service  uniform  of  a  colonel  of  infantry,  and  a 
not  very  well  kept  mustache.  In  the  months  of  fighting 
he  has  in  every  way  "  gone  off."  His  voice  when  he 
speaks  is  almost  a  "whiskey  voice."  At  his  heels,  with 
a  map  in  his  hand,  comes  the  Major,  a  dull,  commonplace 
man  of  forty.] 

MAJOR.  We've  got  'em  on  the  run,  I  tell  you. 
Cleaned  'em  off  the  heights  here.  Chased  'em  across  the 
river  there. 

ROBERT.     Humph!     Watch  out  for  the  come-back. 

MAJOR.     We  can  smother  them  with  numbers. 

ROBERT.  They're  on  their  own  doorstep  now.  With 
their  backs  up. 

ADJUTANT.     Headquarters  on  the  line,  sir. 

ROBERT.     Eh?     Then  why  in  hell  — 

ADJUTANT.     Just  this  minute,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Right!  [Goes  to  the  telephone.  The  Ma 
jor  seats  himself  at  the  table  and  goes  over  the  maps 


Moloch  65 

with  the  Adjutant.']  Headquarters? —  Yes,  sir.  We 
are  entrenching  a  kilometer  beyond  the  farm-house. — 
Yes,  sir.  We  can  hold  it. —  How  many,  sir  ?  —  Fine ! 
Thanks.  [To  Sergeant.]  Get  the  commissary !  [Goes 
to  the  table.]  Two  more  regiments  before  midnight. 
If  they  try  to  rush  us,  they'll  get  what's  coming  to  them. 

[Thomas  steals  out  from  beneath  the  shed  and  very 
timidly  takes  up  and  eats  the  crumbs  that  the  Woodsy 
Boy  has  let  fall.] 

MAJOR.     Not  much  like  it  was  a  year  ago. 

ROBERT.  No.  We  can  beat  'em  now  at  their  own 
game.  Anything  in  your  flask,  old  man? 

MAJOR.     About  enough  to  drown  a  fly. 

ROBERT.  Let's  see  the  color  of  it.  [Reluctantly  the 
Major  hands  over  his  flask.]  Sorry  —  between  friends. 
Ebb  tide  here,  till  the  supplies  get  through.  [Goes 
toward  house.]  And  I've  got  another  touch  of  rheu 
matics  coming  on. 

[Robert  goes  into  the  house.] 

ADJUTANT.     Rather  a  pity! 

MAJOR.  Pity  your  grandmother !  He's  a  better  sol 
dier  drunk  than  half  of  'em  sober.  Give  us  your  pen 
cil!  If  there's  half  a  minute,  I'll  scratch  a  letter  home. 
September  — 

ADJUTANT.     Twenty-first. 

MAJOR.  Hm!  That's  my  oldest  girl's  birthday. 
[Writes.] 

WOODSY  BOY  [holding  out  his  piece  of  bread,  to 
Thomas.]  Here,  Kid!  Take  it.  Come  on.  Don't  be 
scared. 

[Thomas  snatches  the  bread  and  retreats  a  little.] 

FIRST  SOLDIER  [going  to  the  Woodsy  Boy,  but  keeping 
a  wary  eye  on  the  two  officers.]  You're  green,  all  right. 
When  you've  seen  as  many  stray  brats  as  I  have  —  well, 
you'll  eat  what  little  grub  you  get  your  paws  on. 

WOODSY  BOY.     What  becomes  of  him? 

FIRST  SOLDIER.     Why,  a  nice  young  lady  nurse  will 


66  Moloch 

come  along  and  feed  him  out  of  a  silver  mug,  and  tuck 
him  up  in  a  pink  crib,  with  a  woolly  baa  lamb  beside 
him,  huh?  Say,  ain't  you  got  any  sense  at  all? 

WOODSY  BOY.  Do  you  mean,  when  we  go  away,  he 
will  be  left  alone? 

THOMAS.  My  daddy  is  coming  back  pretty  soon.  He 
said  he  would.  [Goes  back  into  the  shed.] 

WOODSY  BOY.     Where  d'you  suppose  his  daddy's  gone? 

FIRST  SOLDIER.  If  you  shin  that  wall,  you'll  see  a 
clump  of  trees  over  yonder.  Daddy's  there.  "  Rocka- 
bye  baby,  on  the  tree-top."  With  the  rope  that  tethered 
one  of  his  own  cows  tied  round  his  neck. 

WOODSY  BOY.     What  for? 

FIRST  SOLDIER.  Just  sniping.  Got  two  of  ours  be 
fore  we  settled  his  hash.  That  was  a  bit  o'  the  fun  you 
weren't  in  on,  Greeny. 

[The  Adjutant,  rolling  himself  a  cigarette,  chances  to 
look  up.  First  Soldier  "withdraws  to  the  left  of  the 
gateway.] 

WOODSY  BOY  [to  Thomas,  fumbling  in  his  pocket]. 
Here!  That  is  chocolate.  Extra  ration*  It's  good. 
Eat  it. 

[Thomas  snatches  the  chocolate  and  runs  back  into 
the  shed.] 

SERGEANT.     Commissary  on  the  line,  sir. 

ADJUTANT  [rising].  Hold  it!  [Goes  to  house  door.] 
Colonel!  Ready  the  commissary. 

[Robert  comes  in  from  the  house.] 

ROBERT  [to  the  Major].  Fooled  me  that  time,  old 
man.  [Gives  back  the  flask.]  Not  enough  to  drown  a 
flea.  Well? 

ADJUTANT.     Commissary,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Right!  [Goes  to  telephone.]  Hello,  Com 
missary!  Where  in  hell  are  those  supplies?  Can't  live 
on  air,  you  know.  Can't  suck  our  paws  like  blasted 
bears. —  Well,  I  don't  give  a  damn!  We've  been  en 
trenching  for  forty-eight  hours.  Not  a  blamed  thing  to 


Moloch  67 

eat  but  the  bread  in  our  haversacks,  and  a  little  beef  on 
the  hoof. —  What's  that? —  Well,  that's  more  like 
it. —  Hold  on!  I  say!  You're  sending  us  some 
brandy,  too,  eh?  [The  Major  and  the  Adjutant  ex 
change  glances.]  Need  it  badly.  Got  some  cases  of 
sickness.  All  right.  So  long.  [Turns  to  the  Ad 
jutant.]  Four  motor-trucks  will  be  at  the  foot  of  the 
lane,  any  minute.  See  that  the  commissary  sergeant  is 
on  the  job. 

ADJUTANT.     Right,  sir. 

.  ROBERT.  I  say!  [Detaining  him.]  Look  out  your 
self  for  that  stuff  consigned  to  me.  It's  important. 

ADJUTANT.     Yes,  sir. 

[The  Adjutant  goes  out  through  the  gateway.] 

ROBERT    [at   the   back   of   the   table].     Well!     What 
writing  ? 

MAJOR.     Just  a  line  home. 

ROBERT.     That's    a    nice    thing    to    have,    a    home. 
Those  chaps  didn't  happen  to  leave  me  mine. 

SERGEANT.     Outpost  K  is  calling,  sir. 

ROBERT.     Eh? 

SERGEANT.,     Yes.     This      is      Crossways.     What?  — 
They  got  that  biplane,  sir. 

[Major  turns  alertly.] 

ROBERT   [excited].     No! 

SERGEANT.     Smashed   the   pilot   to  bits.     Mixed   the 
other  fellow  up  with  red-hot  petrol. 

ROBERT.     Can  talk,  can't  he? 

SERGEANT.     Can  he  talk? —     Yes.     He  can  talk,  sir. 

ROBERT.     Send  him  over  here. 

SERGEANT.     The   Colonel   says :     Send   him   over !  — 
Is  that  all,  sir? 

ROBERT.     That's   all,  Sergeant.      [Goes   to  centre   of 
the  courtyard,  to  the  Woodsy  Boy.]      Come  here.,  you! 

WOODSY  BOY  [coming  to  him,  saluting].     Yes,  sir. 

ROBERT.     You're  the  man  saw  the  biplane  go  west 
ward  night  before  last? 


68  Moloch 

WOODSY  BOY.     Yes,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Why  in  hell  couldn't  you  have  given  the 
alarm  ? 

WOODSY  BOY.     I  thought  'twas  just  a  big  bird,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Well,  when  birdie  dropped  a  bomb,  down  in 
the  field  where  our  men  happened  to  be  sleeping,  you 
woke  up  and  took  a  little  notice,  maybe? 

WOODSY  BOY.  Yes,  sir.  [Shuddering.]  I  heard  'em 
scream. 

ROBERT.     Did  you  see  a  light  on  the  hill  beyond? 

WOODSY  BOY.     Plain  as  I  see  you,  sir. 

ROBERT.  And  a  light  far  off  as  you  could  see,  there 
in  the  west? 

WOODSY  BOY.     Yes,  sir. 

ROBERT  [to  the  Major].  That's  our  water  tower. 
Birdie  just  missed  it.  [To  Woodsy  Boy.]  That's  all! 
[The  Woodsy  Boy  salutes  and  returns  to  his  post. 
Robert  sits  on  the  bench  in  front  of  tUe  table.]  There's 
been  too  many  lights  on  the  hills.  Too  many  camp 
fires  by  day.  To-night  I'm  counting  on  finding  out  the 
name  and  address  of  the  folks  that  are  setting  those 
fires. 

MAJOR.     You  think  you'll  get  that  from  the  aviator? 

ROBERT.  Why  not?  St.  Jo's  reported  that  he  landed 
inside  our  lines,  didn't  they?  Reported  that  he  stocked 
up  with  petrol,  didn't  they? 

MAJOR.     Yes. 

ROBERT.  Well,  then!  He's  likely  to  know  where  he 
got  the  petrol  and  who  helped  him.  When  we  get  one 
man,  we  get  the  next,  and  so  on,  till  we  get  the  whole 
damned  gang. 

MAJOR.     The  country  is  rotten  with  treachery. 

ROBERT.  And  there's  a  real  enemy  in  front.  Don't 
forget  that!  We're  not  out  of  the  woods  yet.  And  it 
will  help  things  along  to  clear  out  some  of  the  snake- 
weed  and  skunk  cabbage.  When  I  get  hold  of  that  bi 
plane  chap,  he's  going  to  squeal. 


Moloch  69 

MAJOR.     Well  —  there  are  —  er  —  rules  of  the  game. 

ROBERT.     Not  a  hunting  man,  are  you,  old  chap? 

MAJOR.     No. 

ROBERT.  If  you  were,  you'd  know  there  aren't  any 
rules  when  you're  dealing  with  vermin.  Let  me 
once  get  hold  of  the  fellow  who  dropped  the  bombs  into 
St.  Jo's  — 

[As  he  is  speaking  the  Adjutant  comes  in  through  the 
gateway,  followed  by  Katherine.  She  wears  the  dusty 
and  rather  shabby  dress  of  a  Red  Cross  nurse,  with 
cloak  and  bonnet.] 

ADJUTANT  [saluting].  A  lady,  sir,  that  wants  to  see 
you. 

ROBERT.  A  lady?  Here?  You're  off  your  head. 
How'd  she  get  here? 

ADJUTANT.  Red  Cross  nurse,  with  a  pass  from 
Headquarters.  Came  on  the  commissary  truck. 

ROBERT  [rising].  Well,  put  her  on  the  truck  and 
send  her  back  where  she  came  from. 

KATHERINE.  Oh,  please,  no!  Let  me  stay  long 
enough  to  say —  How  are  you,  Rob?  [Goes  to  him.] 

ROBERT  [embracing  her].  Kate!  How  in  God's 
name  did  you  get  here? 

[The  Major  and  the  Adjutant  fall  back  a  little.] 

KATHERINE.  A  little  eager,  perhaps,  to  see  you. 
It's  been  months  and  months  now,  and  —  and  a  good 
deal  has  happened,  Rob. 

ROBERT.  Yes.  I  know.  Sit  down  here,  come. 
[Seats  her  on  the  bench.]  Pity  we  haven't  some 
brandy!  Major,  my  wife.  My  Adjutant. 

[The  two  officers  bow  and  retire  to  the  back  of  the 
courtyard.] 

ROBERT.  We  must  fix  it  to  send  you  back  to  the  base. 
This  is  the  last  place  —  You  know  we  may  be  attacked 
before  morning.  What  ever  possessed  you  — 

KATHERINE.     I  got  into  St.  Jo's  last  night. 

ROBERT.     The  devil  you  did !     Then  you  were  — 


70  Moloch 

KATHERINE.  Rob!  Don't  talk  about  it,  please.  I 
thought  I  was  hardened  to  every  horror,,  but  — 

ROBERT  [sitting  beside  her].     There,  there! 

KATHERINE.  Well,  I  came  on  to  Headquarters  this 
morning.  They're  trying  to  get  me  a  pass  to  go  through 
the  lines,  and  meantime,  when  I  found  you  were  sta 
tioned  here  —  the  chance  to  see  you  —  I  haven't  much 
else  left. 

ROBERT.     You  shouldn't  have  taken  the  risk. 

KATHERINE.  I've  been  running  risks,  such  as  they 
are,  for  four  months  now. 

ROBERT.  You  shouldn't  have  started  on  this  fool's 
errand.  You  ought  to  be  at  home. 

KATHERINE.  There  is  no  —  home,  Rob.  So  I 
started  out  to  see  if  I  couldn't  find  some  trace  of  Basil. 

ROBERT.  Just  waste  of  time.  Poor  kid!  We  shan't 
see  him  this  side  of  Jordan. 

KATHERINE.  Don't  say  that,  please !  If  you  could 
see  your  mother!  If  you  could  hear  her,  night  and  day, 
crying  for  her  boy.  I  can  understand. 

ROBERT.  Yes.  I  know.  Our  boy  —  Did  he  suf 
fer  much,  Kate? 

KATHERINE.     Not  for  long. 

ROBERT.     Did  he  speak  of  me? 

KATHERINE.     Yes.     He  cried  for  you. 

ROBERT.     Poor  little  kid!     Poor  old  girl! 

KATHERINE.     Better  not,  Rob.     I  mustn't  cry  here. 

ROBERT.  No.  It's  over  and  done  with  now. 
[Rises.]  Can't  help  him. 

KATHERINE.  It  wasn't  for  my  boy  alone.  [Rises.] 
Just  the  comfort  —  to  find  you  again.  To  have  you, 
just  the  same,  to  cling  to,  when  the  whole  world  reels. 
[Robert  embraces  her.] 

[Second  Soldier  enters  through  the  gateway.] 

ADJUTANT    [approaching  Robert].     Beg  pardon,  sir. 

ROBERT.     Well? 


Moloch  71 

ADJUTANT.     Seven  o'clock,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Yes.  Must  go  the  rounds.  We're  a  bit 
short  of  officers,  you  know.  [To  Soldier.]  Got  my 
horse  there? 

SECOND  SOLDIER.     Yes,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Be  back  soon,  Kate.  We  shan't  be  sending 
away  the  trucks  for  half  an  hour.  We'll  have  a  minute 
together  yet.  Ready,  gentlemen! 

[Robert,  the  Major,  the  Adjutant,  and  Second  Soldier 
go  out  through  the  gateway.  Thomas  steals  from  the 
shed  and  stands  'watching  them.  The  shadows  are  deep 
ening.  Katherine  watches  Robert  off.  Then  her  eyes 
fall  upon  Thomas.  Her  arms  go  out  toward  him  yearn 
ingly.] 

KATHERINE.     What's  your  name,  dear? 

THOMAS.     Thomas. 

KATHERINE  [sitting  on  the  bench].  And  whose  boy 
are  you? 

THOMAS   [shyly  approaching  her].     Daddy's. 

KATHERINE.     And  where's  Daddy? 

THOMAS.     He's  coming  back.     He  told  me  to  wait. 

KATHERINE.  When  did  you  wash  your  poor  little 
face  last?  Are  you  hungry? 

THOMAS.     Yes. 

KATHERINE.  I  have  some  biscuit  in  my  pocket.  If 
you'll  let  me  wash  your  face  —  yes  ? 

THOMAS.     What  kind  o'  biscuit? 

KATHERINE  [pouring  water  from  the  mug  upon  her 
handkerchief].  Oh,  round  ones  and  square  ones  and 
some  of  them  sweet.  [Washes  his  face.]  My  stars! 
What  a  smudgy  little  boy!  Where's  Mammy? 

THOMAS.  Mammy  died,  three,  four,  five  —  oh,  a  lot 
of  days  ago.  And  the  little  baby.  The  little  weeny 
baby  —  so  long.  [Measures  with  his  hands.]  Daddy 
put  them  out  there  in  the  ground.  I  wish  Daddy  would 
come. 


72  Moloch 

KATHERINE.  Don't  cry,  dear!  Don't!  [Takes  him 
on  her  lap.~\  Play  I'm  your  mammy.  Here  are  the  bis 
cuit!  All  for  you! 

[Thomas  eats  the  biscuit  eagerly. ] 

SERGEANT  [answering  call].  Crossways,  yes,  sir. 
Ready!  [Takes  down  the  message.]  Airscout  reports 
enemy  massing  in  force,  three  regiments  of  foot  esti 
mated,  behind  the  lines,  opposite  Crossways.  Right. 
Got  it,  yes.  Good-bye.  [Snaps  fingers.] 

FIRST  SOLDIER  [going  to  him].     Yes,  sir. 

SERGEANT.  Take  this  to  the  Colonel.  [Gives  him 
the  written  message.] 

FIRST  SOLDIER.     Yes,  sir. 

[First  Soldier  goes  out  through  the  gateway.] 

SERGEANT.  Snappy  time  round  here  to-night,  young 
fellow. 

WOODSY  BOY  [coming  a  little  toward  him].  Must  we 
kill  them  some  more,  sir? 

SERGEANT.  Well,  what  d'ye  think  you're  here  for? 
Didn't  think  'twas  a  sworry,  did  you,  with  swallow-tails 
and  pink  tea?  My  God!  The  stuff  they've  sent  us 
since  the  Conscript  Act!  Lucky  for  you,  young  chap, 
I'm  on  the  wire,  'stead  o'  teaching  you  the  drill.  [Bus 
ies  himself  with  copying  duplicate  messages  into  his 
book.] 

THOMAS.     Are  you  a  little  boy's  mother? 

KATHERINE.     Yes,  dear. 

THOMAS.     Where  is  he? 

KATHERINE  [after  a  moment].  In  a  pleasant  place. 
Where  men  have  stopped  killing  each  other.  Where 
women  don't  have  to  cry  any  more.  Where  little  chil 
dren  are  safe  and  happy.  Oh,  he's  better  off  where 
he  is!  Better  off!  [Controls  herself.]  Your  mammy 
is  there,  too,  dear.  Safe  and  happy.  And  the  wee 
little  baby. 

THOMAS.  Oh,  no.  Daddy  put  them  there  in  the 
ground.  I  wish  he'd  come.  I  want  him  so. 


Moloch  73 

KATHERINE.  Don't  cry.  You  must  be  a  brave  little 
boy.  Cuddle  close  and  go  to  sleep. 

[She  holds  the  child  close.  He  shuts  his  eyes.  Twi 
light  is  deepening.  The  Woodsy  Boy,  who  has  watched 
her  with  the  eyes  of  a  lost  dog,  steals  to  her  side.] 

WOODSY  BOY.     Lady !     You  don't  remember  me  ? 

KATHERINE.     I'm  sorry.     No. 

WOODSY  BOY.  I  came  to  your  place  one  night,  with  a 
dog  that  had  broke  its  leg. 

KATHERINE.     Not  the  Woodsy  Boy? 

WOODSY  BOY.  I  showed  you  where  to  find  the  prim 
roses,  you  and  Roland. 

KATHERINE.     Oh,  what  are  you  doing  here  ? 

WOODSY  BOY.  I  was  tall  enough  and  old  enough,  they 
said. 

KATHERINE.  A  conscript,  of  course !  You  poor  little 
fellow,  they  might  have  let  you  be. 

THOMAS  [in  his  sleep~\.     Daddy! 

KATHERINE.     Hush !     Hush ! 

WOODSY  BOY.  We  have  killed  his  daddy.  He  fired 
at  us.  We  were  taking  his  cattle. 

KATHERINE.     God  pity  us  all! 

WOODSY  BOY.  At  home  my  father  stole  a  sheep.  He 
was  two  years  in  jail.  Here  we  stole  his  father's  cattle 
—  so  we  hanged  his  father  on  a  tree.  I  don't  under 
stand. 

KATHERINE.  Just  do  as  they  tell  you,  Heaven  pity 
you! 

WOODSY  BOY.  At  home  the  Parson  told  me  not  to 
kill.  He  said  God  said  we  mustn't.  But  here  they  say 
I  must  kill. 

KATHERINE.     Don't  try  to  understand! 

SERGEANT.  Hi  you!  Greeny!  Cut  into  the  house 
and  fetch  some  lanterns!  [The  Woodsy  Boy  goes  into 
the  house.']  Was  he  bothering  you,  ma'am? 

KATHERINE.     No,  Sergeant. 

SERGEANT.     He's  a  bit  cracked  in  the  head,  you  can 


74  Moloch 

see.     Not  much  like  the  chaps  they  sent  us,  first  of  the 
war.     Kind  of  petering  out,  they  are. 

[Through  the  gateway  come  in  Robert,  the  Major,  the 
Adjutant,  and  Second  Soldier.'] 

ROBERT.     Any  report,  Sergeant? 

SERGEANT.     Just  the  airscout,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Take  that  ladder!  Set  it  up  against  the 
shed.  [Second  Soldier  sets  ladder  against  the  shed. 
The  Woodsy  Boy  comes  from  the  house  with  two  lighted 
lanterns.  He  hangs  one  on  the  porch,  so  that  the  light 
falls  across  the  table. ~\  Let's  have  the  binoculars. 
[Takes  them  from  the  Adjutant.']  Here!  Climb  up 
there.  Look  out  for  lights  on  the  hills.  Flashes. 
[Second  Soldier  goes  up  the  ladder,  hooks  his  elbows  on 
roof  of  the  shed,  and  studies  the  horizon  at  right.  The 
Woodsy  Boy  sets  the  second  lantern  on  the  telephone 
table.]  Late  with  that  prisoner  froom  Outpost  K. 

ADJUTANT.     Believe  I  hear  the  motor  now,  sir. 

ROBERT.  Well,  bring  him  on  the  run.  We've  no  time 
to  fool.  [The  Adjutant  goes  through  the  gateway. 
Robert  turns  to  Katherine,  and  sees  her,  under  the  lan- 
ternlight,  with  the  child  in  her  arms.  He  cries  out.] 
Kate! 

KATHERINE.     Don't  wake  him! 

ROBERT.  Good  God !  For  half  a  minute  I  thought  — 
[Goes  to  her,  furious  with  himself.]  What  kid  is  that 
you've  got  there? 

KATHERINE.  Isn't  there  a  bed  inside  where  I  can  lay 
him?  Poor  little  fellow! 

ROBERT.  This  is  the  battle-line.  Not  much  room 
here  for  sentiment. 

KATHERINE.     It's  his  father's  house. 

ROBERT.     Well,  put  him  on  the  bed,  if  you  want  to. 
[Katherine  leads  the  half  sleeping  child  to  the  house.] 
Better  stay  inside  yourself.     Turns  cool  here  after  sun 
set.     Can't   send   you   back    for   an   hour   yet.     Go   in! 
Go   in!     I  Katherine    and   Thomas   go   into    the    house. 


Moloch  75 

Robert,  badly  shaken,  takes  up  the  mug,  dashes  out  the 
water  that  is  in  it,  fills  it  from  his  pocket  flask,  and  takes 
a  stiff  drink  of  whiskey  neat.  The  Adjutant  comes  in. 
Robert  turns  at  his  step.]  Got  him? 

ADJUTANT.     We  have,  sir. 

ROBERT.     Well,  trot  him  out. 

[The  Adjutant  signals  with  his  hand  from  the  gate 
way.  An  infantry  Sergeant  comes  in,  followed  by  sev 
eral  soldiers.  Two  of  them  are  half  supporting,  half 
dragging  Phil,  incredibly  altered.  He  wears  the 
scorched  and  torn  remains  of  an  aviation  lieutenant's 
uniform.  He  is  bareheaded  and  his  forehead  and  eyes 
are  covered  with  a  blood-stained  emergency  bandage. 
He  is  further  disguised  by  a  fortnight's  growth  of  beard. 
His  wrists  are  closely  tied.  Not  incomprehensible  that 
Robert,  two  thirds  drunk,  should  fail  to  recognize  in  this 
soiled  and  broken  wreck  the  man  who  should  have  been 
his  brother-in-law.  Not  incomprehensible  either  that 
Phil,  blinded,  and  with  senses  benumbed  with  pain, 
should  fail  to  recognise  in  the  whiskey  voice  the  voice  of 
his  old  friend.] 

SECOND  SERGEANT.  The  aviator,  sir,  that  ran  the  bi 
plane  over  St.  Jo's. 

ROBERT.  Set  him  down  there!  [The  soldiers  thrust 
Phil  down  on  the  stool  at  the  right  of  the  table,  and  then 
draw  back.]  So  you're  the  chap  that  paid  us  a  visit  last 
night. 

PHIL  [desperately  trying  to  hold  himself  together]. 
Yes. 

ROBERT  [sitting  at  left  of  the  table,  opposite  him]. 
D'ye  know  what  you  did  at  St.  Jo's? 

PHIL.     Yes. 

ROBERT.     It  was  a  job  to  be  proud  of,  eh? 

PHIL.  Yes.  We  got  your  train-yard  —  your  rolling- 
stock  —  locomotives  —  repair  shop. 

ROBERT.     Is  that  all? 

PHIL.     Do  you  want  more?     Well  —  maybe  some  of 


76  Moloch 

our  chaps  come  again.  I  can't.  [Drops  head  on  his 
arms  on  the  table.]  Done  for! 

MAJOR  [at  the  back  of  the  table].  See  here!  Don't 
you  know  what  you  — 

ROBERT.  Shut  up  !  Shut  up  !  Is  he  shamming,  Ser 
geant,  or  is  he  badly  hurt? 

SECOND  SERGEANT.  Pretty  well  shaken  up,  sir,  and  a 
couple  of  ribs  bust  in.  Then  the  tank  blew  up  and  he 
got  it  in  the  face.  His  eyes  are  done  for. 

PHIL.     Yes. 

SECOND  SERGEANT.  He  was  pretty  keen  on  killing 
himself.  That's  why  we  tied  him. 

PHIL  [lifting  his  head].  I  get  out  of  it  pretty  quick 
anyhow.  But  it's  no  fun  waiting.  I —  [With  his 
hands  outstretched,  to  Robert.]  Oh,  for  God's  sake! 
Let  me  have  some  morphine!  So  for  a  minute  it  stops 
hurting.  So  I  don't  go  crazy.  Maybe  you'll  be  up 
against  it  once  yourself.  For  God's  sake!  [Drops  his 
head  on  his  arms.]  For  God's  sake! 

ROBERT.  Bad  as  all  that,  is  it?  Well,  you  shall  have 
your  morphine,  sonny. 

PHIL  [piteously].     Thank  you! 

ROBERT.  But  first  you're  going  to  do  something  for 
us,  eh? 

PHIL  [lifting  his  head].     What  do  you  want? 

ROBERT.  The  names  of  the  fellows  inside  our  lines 
that  are  standing  in  with  you. 

PHIL.     I  don't  know  them. 

ROBERT.  Oh,  yes,  you  do.  Come  on  now!  Who 
were  they?  Then  it's  you  to  the  hospital.  Not  before. 

PHIL.  Say,  you  said  it  was  a  soldier  you  were  tak 
ing  me  to.  This  is  nothing  but  a  fat  civilian,  with  his 
dinner  slobbered  all  over  his  waistcoat.  You  damned 
bastard,  do  you  think  I'd  — 

[Robert  springs  up  and  starts  toward  Phil.  The 
Major  intercepts  him.] 

MAJOR.     Go  easy,  sir. 


Moloch  77 

ROBERT  [controlling  himself].  Think  you  can  get  me 
mad  enough  to  hit  a  blow  might  kill  you,  do  you? 
[Standing  over  Phil.]  Not  a  bit  of  it.  [Strikes  him.] 
Shell  out  now !  Who  were  they  ? 

PHIL.     No!      [With  a  suppressed  groan.]      Oh! 

ROBERT.  Pretty  fierce  the  pain,  eh?  [Sitting  on  the 
table,  beside  Phil.]  Think  how  jolly  good  you're  going 
to  feel,  with  something  better  than  an  emergency  band 
age  over  your  eyes,  dropping  off  to  sleep  — 

PHIL.     No. 

ROBERT.  Regular  little  hero,  aren't  you?  Well,  I 
guess  we'd  better  tell  you  just  how  much  of  a  hero  you 
really  are.  Didn't  know  perhaps  that  there  was  a  train 
made  up  and  ready  to  start  at  daybreak,  in  the  train- 
yard  at  St.  Jo's. 

PHIL.     What  of  it? 

ROBERT.  Not  much  of  it,  after  your  bombs  smashed 
into  it.  [Phil  gives  a  short  and  savage  laugh.]  Just 
before  then  it  was  full  up  with  wounded  men  —  three 
hundred  of  them  —  and  half  of  them  your  own  chaps. 

PHIL.  No!  You're  saying  that  to  torture  me. 
You're  lying.  All  of  you.  If  I  could  only  see  your 
faces,  I'd  know  you  were  lying. 

ROBERT  [rising].  Well,  we're  going  to  send  you 
where  you'll  find  out  whether  it's  the  truth  or  not. 
[Takes  pad,  and  writes  while  he  speaJcs.]  We'd  be  well 
within  our  rights  to  hang  you,  you  damned  air-pirate. 
But  we'll  stand  you  up  against  the  wall  instead. 

PHIL.     I  thank  you. 

ROBERT.  Set  him  up  there!  [Two  soldiers  take  Phil 
and  thrust  him  against  the  wall  at  the  right  of  the  gate 
way.  Meantime  Robert  beckons  the  Second  Sergeant, 
and  shows  him  the  written  paper.  The  Sergeant  takes 
the  paper  and  by  the  light  of  his  electric  bull's  eye 
shows  it  to  the  soldiers  of  his  squad  successively.  Mean 
time  Robert  goes  on  speaking.]  Back  him  up  against 
the  wall.  More  to  the  right.  Here  you,  fetch  that  Ian- 


78  Moloch 

tern.  Hang  it  on  that  peg  beside  his  head.  [The 
Woodsy  Boy,  shrinking,  takes  the  lantern  from  the  tele 
phone  table,  and  hangs  it  on  the  'wall,  where  the  light 
falls  squarely  on  Phil's  ghastly  face.  This  done,  he 
darts  back  into,  the  shelter  of  the  shed,  where  he  remains 
throughout  a  horrified  and  fascinated  witness.]  Got 
anything  to  say  ? 

PHIL.     Be  quick.     That's  all. 

ROBERT.  We'll  let  you  give  the  word  to  the  firing 
squad. 

PHIL.     Yes. 

ROBERT.     Sergeant ! 

SECOND  SERGEANT.  Fall  in!  'Tention!  March! 
'Bout  face !  Ready !  Aim !  All  ready,  sir. 

[The  firing  squad  is  drawn  up,  behind  the  table,  facing 
Phil.  The  Second  Sergeant  falls  back  at  the  right.] 

ROBERT.  How  about  it  now  ?  Going  to  give  us  those 
names  ? 

PHIL.     No. 

ROBERT.  You'll  find  out  in  a  minute  how  they  died, 
those  three  hundred  at  St.  Jo's.  You'll  be  with  them. 

PHIL.     I'll  chance  it. 

ROBERT.     Want  to  pray? 

PHIL.     Get  through  with  it. 

ROBERT.     Give  the  word,  then! 

[Katherine,  without  her  cloak  and  bonnet,  comes  from 
the  house,  and  pauses  on  the  porch.  She  does  not  of 
course  recognise  Phil.  Neither  does  she  go  into  hyster 
ics.  She  is  a  sensible  woman,  and  no  novice  at  the  sight 
of  horrors.  She  does,  however,  stand  frozen  in  her 
tracks  and  takes  in  all  that  follows.  On  Robert's  last 
word,  Phil  pulls  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  with  chin 
uplifted.  Obviously  he  is  using  the  last  remnant  of  his 
strength  of  body  and  of  soul  to  hold  him  through  the 
next  moment.] 

PHIL.  Fire!  [A  moment's  ghastly  silence.]  For 
God's  sake,  fire! 


Moloch  79 

ROBERT.     Fall  out! 

[The  soldiers  break  ranks  and  stand  beneath  the  tree.] 

PHIL  [going  to  pieces].  What  are  you  doing?  What 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  Why  don't  you  fire  ? 

ROBERT  [going  to  him].  Thought  we'd  let  you  off 
easy  as  that,  eh?  Not  a  bit  of  it! 

PHIL.  You  devils!  You  devils!  Oh!  I  can't  bear 
any  more!  I  can't  bear  it!  [Starts  to  beat  his  head 
against  the  wall.] 

ROBERT  [catching  him  by  the  shoulder].  Cut  that 
out!  [Flings  him  away  from  the  wall.] 

PHIL  [falling  full  length,  -face  down.]  O  God! 
Haven't  you  any  pity ! 

ROBERT  [over  him].  You  wasted  a  lot  of  strength, 
striking  attitudes  there.  Come  on  now,  laddie ! 
[Kicks  him.]  Be  sensible!  Give  us  those  names. 

PHIL.     No ! 

SECOND  SOLDIER.     Colonel!     A  light,  sir. 

ROBERT.     Where? 

[Through  the  ensuing ,  Phil  drags  himself  toward  the 
table,  strikes  his  head  against  the  stool,  and,  having 
thus  placed  himself,  staggers  to  his  feet.] 

SECOND  SOLDIER.  On  the  wooded  hill.  Flash,  sir. 
There  it  comes  again.  [The  crash  of  a  gun  is  heard.  A 
branch  falls  from  the  tree  into  the  courtyard.]  Got  our 
range,  sir! 

ROBERT  [catching  Phil  by  the  shoulders  as  he  rises']* 
They're  getting  busy,  your  friends.  Think  they're  go 
ing  to  keep  on  dropping  my  chaps,  just  because  you  keep 
your  damned  mouth  shut?  [Thrusts  Phil,  struggling 
hopelessly,  down  on  the  stool  at  the  right  of  the  table.] 
I'll  pry  your  jaws  open.  Won't  speak,  eh? 

PHIL  [struggling].     My  God,  man!     Don't!     Don't! 

ROBERT.     Give  us  those  names ! 

PHIL.     No !     No ! 

ROBERT  [jerking  Phil's  arms  from  before  his  face]. 
Damn  your  soul!  [Forces  his  head  back  upon  the  ta- 


80  Moloch 

ble].  If  I  get  my  hand  on  your  face,  you'll  tell  in  a 
hurry ! 

PHIL  [shrieking].     Christ! 

KATHERINE  [somehow  arrived  at  the  table,  clutching 
Robert's  arm].  Rob!  Stop!  Stop! 

ROBERT.  How'd  you  get  here,  Kate?  What  are  you 
doing  ? 

KATHERINE.     For  your  own  sake,  stop ! 

[Guns  intermittently  crash  throughout.] 

ROBERT.  Hear  that?  Pounding  us  to  bits,  just  be 
cause  he  won't  talk.  Get  into  the  house,  Kate.  This  is 
my  job. 

KATHERINE.     Not  torture!     Rob!     Rob!     No! 

ROBERT.  You're  my  wife,  aren't  you?  Do  as  I  tell 
you,  Kate. 

[The  familiar  names  and  the  woman's  well  remem 
bered  voice  have  reached  even  Phil's  pain-crazed  senses.] 

PHIL.     Kate !     Kate ! 

[Robert,  for  the  instant  dismayed  by  the  horror  of 
the  possibility  suggested,  goes  back  from  his  victim. 
Phil  staggers  blindly  to  his  feet.] 

PHIL.  Don't  leave  me!  Don't  you  know  me?  I'm 
Phil. 

KATHERINE  [catching  him  in  her  arms  as  he  pitches 
forward].  No!  No!  [She  eases  him  down  on  the 
bench,  scanning  what  little  of  his  face  is  visible.] 

PHIL.  The  house  in  the  north  —  Roland  —  Ger 
trude  — 

KATHERINE.  Oh!  What  have  you  done,  Rob?  It's 
Phil  —  Phil  that  saved  our  boy  ! 

ROBERT.  Yes.  For  his  countrymen  to  butcher. 
Get  away  from  him! 

KATHERINE  [supporting  Phil,  with  her  arms  about 
him].  No.  You're  not  going  to  touch  him. 

ROBERT.  You  were  at  St.  Jo's  yourself  this  morning. 
You  saw  what  they  were  bringing  out  of  that  train-yard. 
That's  his  work. 


Moloch  81 

KATHERINE  [drawing  back  from  Phil  involuntarily]. 
You  did  that? 

PHIL  [with  a  despairing  cry~].     Then  it's  true! 

KATHERINE.     God  forgive  you ! 

[Phil  sways  forward,  half  lying  on  the  bench.'] 

SERGEANT.     Airscout,  sir. 

ROBERT.     Eh? 

[Katherine  snatches  up  the  mug  and  fills  it  at  the 
water-bucket.'] 

SERGEANT.  Report  from  Outpost  K.  The  enemy's 
foot  are  advancing  against  our  trenches. 

ROBERT  [to  Adjutant].     Got  your  horse  ready? 

ADJUTANT.     There,  sir.      [Indicating  gateway.] 

ROBERT.  Hurry  up  those  re-enforcements.  Ride 
like  hell. 

[The  Adjutant  hurries  out  through  the  gateway. 
Robert  follows  after  him,  with  the  soldiers  in  attendance, 
all  but  the  Woodsy  Boy,  Second  Soldier,  and  the  two 
Sergeants.] 

KATHERINE  [at  Phil's  side].     Drink  it,  Phil! 

PHIL  [drinking  hurriedly].  You  have  not  gone 
away?  You  have  not  left  me? 

KATHERINE.     No.      [Sets  the  mug  on  the  table.] 

PHIL.  It  was  the  repair  shop  I  aimed  at.  I  didn't 
mean  —They  suffered  ?  Tell  me !  Tell  me ! 

KATHERINE.     Some  of  them,  yes. 

PHIL.  I  thought  once  —  I  was  going  to  help  put  a 
stop  to  pain.  I  thought  —  Will  you  tell  her,  please,  I 
am  not  any  more  a  coward !  With  my  own  hands  — 
three  hundred  cripples  killed.  She  should  be  proud. 
Say  that ! 

[Robert  comes  in  through  the  gateway.] 

ROBERT  [to  the  Major].  Bring  up  our  own  regiment. 
On  the  double! 

[The  Major  hurries  out  through  the  gateway.  Rob 
ert  turns  toward  Phil.  Katherine  steps  quickly  between 
them,  with  her  arm  about  Phil.] 


82  Moloch 

ROBERT.  That's  nonsense,  Kate.  You  can't  stop  me. 
[To  Phil.]  I'll  see  you  again  in  a  minute,  and  when  I 
do  —  by  God!  you'll  talk!  [To  the  Second  Sergeant.] 
Sergeant!  Keep  an  eye  on  that  chap.  We're  not 
through  with  him  by  a  long  shot.  Come  on,  you! 

[Robert  goes  out  by  the  lane  at  the  right,  followed 
by  the  telephone  Sergeant.  The  Second  Sergeant  draws 
back  and  paces  in  the  gateway.] 

PHIL.  Katherine!  Will  you  do  for  me  one  thing? 
Inside  my  coat  here,  sewn  in  the  lining  —  I  can't  get  at 
it  —  some  stuff  will  make  me  sleep.  Won't  you  please 
get  it  for  me?  I'd  have  done  it  for  you.  I'd  have  done 
it  for  Rob. 

KATHERINE.  Don't!  I  can't  bear  that.  Because  I 
believe  you  would. 

PHIL.  Then  won't  you  please  —  I  don't  want  to  lie 
screaming  on  the  ground.  In  a  minute  I  will.  O  God ! 
Let  up  on  me !  Please,  please,  Katherine !  For  Ro 
land's  sake! 

KATHERINE.  Hush!  Oh  hush!  [Gets  the  tablets 
from  inside  his  coat.]  Here,  is  it? 

PHIL.     You  have  it? 

KATHERINE.     Yes. 

PHIL.  Put  it  please  into  some  water.  Let  me  drink 
it  quick. 

KATHERINE.     Phil!     My  poor  old  chap !     What  is  it? 

PHIL.     To  make  me  sleep. 

KATHERINE.     For  how  long? 

PHIL.  Don't  ask  questions.  Give  it  to  me,  and  then 
go  straight  away. 

KATHERINE.     I  can't.     Oh,  I  can't! 

PHIL.  Give  it  to  me!  Three  hundred  of  them  — 
helpless!  But  I  must  not  tell.  I  must  not  give  up 
those  names.  I  must  have  something  left,  or  I'll  be 
scared  to  die.  Katherine !  Help  me  not  to  tell ! 
Katherine !  I  am  here  in  hell  —  and  blind  —  blind ! 
Katherine !  Katherine ! 


Moloch  83 

KATHERINE  [snatching  up  the  mug,  and  putting  into  it 
the  tablets].  Phil!  Drink  it!  [Thrusts  the  mug  into 
his  hands.] 

PHIL,  [drinking].     God  bless  you! 

KATHERINE  [putting  down  the  mug,  bending  over 
him].  Phil,  dear!  Can  you  pray? 

PHIL     Pray? 

KATHERINE.     Before  you  —  go  to  sleep  ? 

PHIL.  Oh,  yes.  Pray  —  Roland —  [With  her 
arms  about  him  he  slips  from  the  bench  to  his  knees.] 
Katherine ! 

KATHERINE.     Yes.     I'm  here.     I'm  here. 

PHIL.  Now  I  lay  me  —  keep  me  kind  —  make  me  — 
a  good  —  boy  — 

[The  death  spasm  grips  him.  His  head  goes  back. 
His  kneeling  body  stiffens.  Pie  collapses  limply  at  her 
feet.  She  stands  rigid  and  speechless,  gazing  down  at 
him.  The  guns  now  are  almost  incessant.] 

MAJOR  [outside].     Battalion,  forward! 

A  CAPTAIN'S  VOICE.     Forward! 

SECOND  SERGEANT.     Fall  in! 

[Second  Soldier  comes  down  the  ladder  and  goes  out 
at  the  gateway.  The  Major  comes  in.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  Robert  comes  from  the  lane.] 

MAJOR.     All  ready,  sir. 

[Troops  of  infantry  are  seen  marching  toward  right 
along  the  road  beyond  the  gateway.  The  Major  takes 
his  place  among  them.  The  Second  Sergeant  falls  in.] 

ROBERT  [to  Woodsy  Boy].     Fall  in! 

WOODSY  BOY  [as  unexpectedly  as  if  a  sparrow  should 
chirp  in  the  face  of  a  tornado] .  No,  no !  I  won't  kill 
them.  [Lets  his  rifle  fall.] 

ROBERT.     Pick  up  that  rifle. 

WOODSY  BOY.     No!     No!     No! 

ROBERT  [drawing  his  revolver].     Fall  in,  damn  you! 

WOODSY  BOY.     I  won't  kill.     God  said  that  — 

[Robert  shoots  him  in  the  breast.     The  Woodsy  Boy 


84  Moloch 

staggers  a  few  steps  forward  and  falls  dead.  Across 
his  body  Robert  goes  out  at  the  gateway  and  joins  the 
marching  troops.  There  is  the  flash  of  a  shell,  and  a 
crash.  A  section  of  the  wall  at  the  right  is  blown  in 
ward.  Katherine  staggers  back,  but  the  clutch  of  the 
little  boy,  Thomas,  roused  by  the  noise  and  stolen  in  ter 
ror  from  the  house,  brings  her  to  herself.  She  holds  the 
child  to  her,  protecting,  covering  his  ears  and  eyes.  The 
bursting  of  shells  is  now  incessant.  Another  section  of 
wall  goes  down.  Through  the  smoke  and  the  dust  of  the 
roadway,  under  the  bursting  shells,  a  horse  battery  is 
seen  going  into  action.] 

CURTAIN 


EPILOGUE 

In  the  two  years  that  have  passed  since  the  events  of 
the  Prologue,  the  country-house  has  been  in  the  hands  of 
the  enemy.  The  wide  open  doorway  and  the  uncur 
tained  casements  show  springtide  country,  with  stumps 
of  fruit-trees,  trampled  fields,  and,  in  the  distance,  the 
burned  rafters  of  a  hamlet  and  the  gaunt  tower  of  a 
ruined  church.  Within,  the  room  has  been  stripped  bare 
of  all  that  made  it  livable,  hangings,  rugs,  cushions,  pic 
tures,  bric-a-brac.  The  good  and  heavy  furniture  has 
been  replaced  with  plain  and  cheap  articles.  At  the  left 
is  a  deal  table,  on  which  stand  a  lamp  with  a  green  shade, 
of  ordinary  pattern,  and  an  earthen  jug  with  a  few 
sprays  of  lilac.  A  wooden  chair  is  beside  the  table. 
At  the  centre  is  a  plain  table,  on  which  is  a  big  basket 
of  coarse  mending.  At  either  side  of  the  table  is  a  rush- 
bottom  chair.  A  cottage  settle  is  at  right  angles  to  the 
hearth.  Beside  the  hearth  is  a  wheel-chair,  and  near  by 
a  wooden  chair. 

The  season  is  May,  eight  months  after  the  events  upon 
the  battle-line.  The  time  is  late  afternoon. 

On  the  bench  in  the  bow-window  Thomas,  neatly  but 
poorly  clad,  sits  with  a  shabby  little  picture  book.  Near 
by  the  Professor,  aged,  shabby,  and  almost  senile,  is  ir 
ritably  looking  from  the  window.  Lydia,  gaunt  and 
aged,  all  in  black,  sits  mending  at  the  right  of  the  table. 
In  the  wheel-chair,  with  a  rug  across  his  knees,  sits 
Basil,  the  haggard  wreck  of  the  boy  who  meant  to  end 
the  war  in  six  weeks. 

85 


86  Moloch 

PROFESSOR.  Dear,  dear !  Katherine  is  very  late  with 
the  mail. 

LYDIA.  Well,  Kate  can't  go  like  a  race-horse,  you 
might  remember.  She's  tired,  poor  girl!  And  no  won 
der,  with  all  that  she  has  to  do. 

PROFESSOR.  But  at  such  a  time  it  is  most  exasperat 
ing  not  to  have  the  paper  promptly. 

BASIL.  Probably  Kate  ducked  in  somewhere  when 
that  shower  came  up. 

THOMAS  [going  to  Lydia].  Can  I  go  down  the  lane 
and  meet  Aunt  Katherine? 

LYDIA.  Yes,  Thomas.  But  mind  you  don't  go  near 
the  soldiers'  camp. 

THOMAS.     No,  I  won't. 

[Thomas  runs  out  at  the  terrace  door.~\ 

LYDIA.  That  camp  is  enough  to  demoralize  all  the 
boys  and  girls  in  the  district.  What  there  is  about  brass 
buttons  and  a  bugle  — 

BASIL.  Oh,  come,  Mother!  Our  chaps  are  decent 
enough  fellows. 

LYDIA.  Well,  I'll  be  thankful  when  their  camp  is 
broken  up.  They  demobilize  next  week,  didn't  you  say  ? 

BASIL.  They  were  planning  to.  But  there's  no  tell 
ing  what  will  happen  with  these  new  complications. 

LYDIA.  Fiddlesticks  !  You  needn't  tell  me  that  we're 
going  to  fight  again.  We've  got  peace  at  last,  haven't 
we?  We've  got  the  victory,  haven't  we? 

BASIL.  I  wonder.  If  we  have,  I  don't  think  much  of 
what  they  call  the  fruits  of  victory. 

LYDIA.  Fruits  of  victory !  I  don't  see  much  of  them 
in  this  house. 

[Gertrude,  in  shabby  black  clothes,  white,  sullen,  and 
weary,  comes  in  at  the  left.] 

GERTRUDE.  That  last  shower  did  the  business.  The 
kitchen  roof  is  leaking  like  a  sieve.  Give  me  the  mend 
ing,  Mother. 


Moloch  87 

LYDIA.  There's  enough  for  two.  Shoddy  stuff  they 
sell  us  nowadays. 

GERTRUDE.  [Sits  left  of  table,  with  mending.] 
There's  a  half  day's  work  to  do  on  that  roof.  We  need 
an  able-bodied  man  —  and  the  money  to  pay  him. 

LYDIA.  Well,  Robert  will  be  home  very  soon  now. 
And  when  he  takes  hold  of  things  — 

GERTRUDE.  We  can't  do  much  without  ready  money. 
And  every  penny  is  eaten  up  with  the  new  taxes. 

PROFESSOR.  It  is  entirely  the  fault  of  the  ministry. 
They  should  have  stood  out  for  a  proper  war  indemnity. 
They  should  have  made  the  foreigners  pay  for  all  our 
losses. 

BASIL.  And  what  the  devil  were  the  foreigners  to 
pay  with?  I  tell  you,  they're  worse  off  than  we  are. 

LYDIA  [going  to  sit  on  the  settle  near  Basil].  O 
sonny,  how  can  that  be  possible  ? 

PROFESSOR.  Well,  well!  Here's  Kate  at  last.  And 
high  time,  I  should  think. 

[Katherine  comes  in  with  Thomas  at  the  terract,  door. 
She  wears  a  plain  and  inexpensive  walking  suit,  hat,  and 
blouse.  She  looks  older  by  ten  years.] 

PROFESSOR.     You  are  late,  Katherine. 

[Thomas  gives  the  Professor  a  newspapert  which  the 
old  man  eagerly  spreads  open.] 

KATHERINE.  I'm  sorry,  Uncle.  The  road  was  a  bit 
heavy.  Here's  a  letter  for  you,  Trudie ! 

GERTRUDE.  Why,  it's  from  Margaret.  It's  months 
since  we've  had  a  word  from  her. 

BASIL.     Give  us  a  look-in,  Uncle. 

PROFESSOR.  Most  annoying!  [Going  to  Basil.] 
Only  one  penny  paper  a  day,  and  at  a  crisis  like  this  — 
a  national  crisis.  [Sits  on  the  chair  beside  Basil  and 
shares  the  paper  with  him.] 

THOMAS.  Aunt  Katherine !  Can  I  go  out  and  play  a 
little? 


88  Moloch 

KATHERINE.  Yes,  dear.  Stay  in  the  garden,  remem 
ber.  [Puts  her  hat  and  coat  in  the  closet.] 

THOMAS.     Yes,  I  will. 

[Thomas  goes  out  at  the  terrace  door.~] 

BASIL.     Well,  it  looks  squally,  all  right. 

GERTRUDE.     Bad  news,  Basil? 

PROFESSOR.  At  least  we  are  in  better  shape  than  we 
were  two  years  ago.  We  have  an  efficient  army  of  sea 
soned  men. 

BASIL.     Seasoned  like  me,  eh? 

LYDIA.     We're  not  going  to  fight  again? 

KATHERINE.  It's  nothing  but  talk,  Mother.  [Sits 
right  of  table,  takes  mending.] 

BASIL.  We  have  cause  enough  to  fight,  and  don't  you 
forget  it. 

PROFESSOR.  Yes.  The  conduct  of  our  late  associ 
ates  in  arms  has  violated  every  usage  of  international 
law. 

BASIL.  We'll  teach  'em  a  thing  or  two.  And  we've 
got  those  that  will  help  us. 

KATHERINE.  You  don't  really  think  we'll  fight 
against  our  old  comrades? 

PROFESSOR.  In  the  shift  of  events  that  is  not  alto 
gether  impossible. 

LYDIA.  You  mean  we'll  actually  fight  now  on  the  side 
of  the  foreigners  ?  Ignorant  wretches ! 

BASIL.  Oh,  they're  not  half  bad,  Mother.  Really 
they're  much  more  our  sort  than  our  old  associates. 
They  were  mighty  decent  to  me,  you  know,  when  I  was 
off  my  head,  before  Kate  found  me. 

PROFESSOR.  The  foreigners  are  not  the  worst  of  peo 
ple,  Lydia.  Philip  now,  he  was  a  quite  likable  young 
man. 

[Gertrude  listens  tensely.] 

BASIL.     He  wasn't  a  half  bad  sort,  old  Phil. 

PROFESSOR  [turning  to  his  paper].  Killed  in  action, 
didn't  you  say,  Kate? 


Moloch  89 

KATHERINE  [rising"].  Yes.  He  was  killed  in  a  raid 
at  St.  Jo's.  Instantly  killed.  [Goes  to  the  window  at 
right.'] 

LYDIA.  Poor  fellow !  At  least  it's  a  comfort  to  think 
that  he  did  not  suffer.  You  have  that  to  remember,  Ger 
trude. 

GERTRUDE.  Oh,  yes !  I  remember.  [Rises  and  goes 
with  her  letter  into  the  bow-window.] 

BASIL.     Poor  old  Phil! 

PROFESSOR  [reading  the  paper].  Tut,  tut!  Shock 
ing!  Most  shocking! 

BASIL.  Let's  see,  sir.  [Glancing  at  the  paper.]  Ah, 
that's  rotten! 

LYDIA.     What  is  it? 

BASIL.  Getting  nasty,  our  late  comrades  in  arms. 
Women  of  ours  have  been  attacked  among  them.  Oh,  I 
say !  Little  children  —  butchered ! 

KATHERINE.  Basil!  Two  years  ago,  those  are  the 
same  stories  they  told  about  Phil's  countrymen. 

GERTRUDE.  Here's  interesting  news.  Margaret  is 
to  be  married. 

KATHERINE.     Not  Margaret  —     Hush ! 

[Lydia  lays  a  hand  on  Basil's  arm.] 

BASIL.  It  doesn't  matter.  Who  waits  for  a  man  as 
good  as  dead? 

GERTRUDE.  She  can  forget.  There  are  such  women. 
Isn't  she  lucky?  [Turns  to  the  door.] 

LYDIA.     Where  are  you  going? 

GERTRUDE.     Out  where  the  garden  used  to  be. 

[Gertrude  goes  out  at  the  terrace  door.] 

LYDIA  [rising].  Perhaps  I'd  better  follow  her.  It's 
the  old  folks  have  to  tend  upon  the  young  folks  now. 

[Lydia  goes  out  at  the  terrace  door.] 

BASIL.     You  can  have  the  paper,  sir. 

PROFESSOR.  Yes,  yes.  [Hurries  toward  the  chair  at 
the  left.]  The  editorials  —  their  comments  are  too  mild. 
They  do  not  understand  the  principles  our  late  associ- 


90  Moloch 

ates  have  shamelessly  violated.  [Sits  at  the  left  and 
buries  himself  in  the  coveted  paper.] 

KATHERINE  [laying  her  hand  on  Basil's  arm].  Old 
man! 

BASIL  [sharply].  If  you  don't  mind  letting  me 
alone !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Kate.  About  all  I  can  do 
now  is  to  bite  on  the  bullet  —  gracefully,  and  keep  on 
biting  for  a  little  matter  of  forty  or  fifty  years. 

KATHERINE.  Doctors  don't  know  everything.  Per 
haps  — 

BASIL.  They  know  enough  to  know  I'm  tied  to  this 
chair  till  death  do  us  part.  That's  in  the  marriage  serv 
ice,  isn't  it?  [Breaking  down.]  Ah! 

KATHERINE.     Basil!     Don't!     Don't! 

LYDIA  [outside,  excitedly'].     Kate!     O  Kate! 

KATHERINE.     Mother!     What's  wrong? 

[Lydia  hurries  in  at  the  terrace  door.] 

LYDIA.  Kate !  Here's  Rob  come  home  this  very 
day.  Here's  Rob  come  home  at  last.  I  told  you  —  I 
kept  telling  you  —  they  couldn't  fight  again.  Now 
we've  got  Rob  back.  It's  all  right.  It's  all  right. 
Come  in,  Rob!  Come  in! 

[Robert,  noticeably  aged,  in  civilian  clothes,  appears 
at  the  terrace  door.  He  has  the  look  of  a  man  who  has 
just  been  struck  in  the  face.  Lydia  hurries  down  to  the 
Professor,  who  rises.] 

ROBERT.     I  —  I  hardly  recognized  the  house.     Kate ! 

KATHERINE  [going  to  his  arms].  You've  come  back 
to  stay,  Rob?  You're  not  in  uniform.  Oh,  I  was 
afraid  — 

ROBERT  [looking  about  the  dismantled  room].  They 
did  a  pretty  thorough  job  here,  didn't  they? 

KATHERINE.  You'll  get  used  to  it,  Rob.  We're  all 
getting  used  to  it. 

ROBERT  [in  the  doorway].  Cleaned  out  the  orchards, 
didn't  they?  All  fruit  trees,  those  were.  Just  got  'em 
in  condition  to  bear. 


Moloch  91 

KATHERINE.     I  wrote  you  how  things  were. 

ROBERT.  Yes.  I  didn't  quite  take  it  in.  [Starts 
toward  the  hearth,  stops,  smitten  at  the  sight  of  Basil, 
then  goes  to  him.]  Hello,  Bub!  Hard  luck,  old  man! 
[Gertrude  appears  in  the  doorway,  unnoticed  by  Rob 
ert],  Cleaned  us  up  here  pretty  well,  the  foreigners, 
didn't  they?  Cleaned  us  up,  while  we  were  getting 
ready  to  fight !  And  now  we're  turning  out  to  help  'em 
thrash  our  old  comrades  in  arms. 

KATHERINE.     What ! 

ROBERT.     War  was  declared  at  noon  to-day. 

KATHERINE.     War  was  declared! 

ROBERT  [going  to  the  Professor].  Here's  a  late  pa 
per,  sir. 

PROFESSOR.  Thank  you,  Robert,  thank  you!  [Re 
tires  into  the  bow-window,  where  he  reads  the  paper, 
oblivious  of  all  else.] 

LYDIA.  They're  going  to  keep  on  fighting!  [Goes  to 
Basil,  sits  on  the  settle.] 

KATHERINE.     But  you've  come  home. 

ROBERT.  Yes.  They  only  want  able-bodied  men  for 
cannon  fodder  —  young  men,  strong  men,  not  chaps  like 
me.  Knocked  my  heart  out  in  the  service.  Got  rheu 
matism  in  those  damned  trenches.  That's  why  they 
gave  me  my  walking  ticket.  That's  why  I've  come  home. 

KATHERINE.  And  now  we  fight  for  the  foreigners. 
I  can't  believe  it. 

GERTRUDE  [coming  into  the  room],  Phil  would  have 
been  useful  now.  A  pity,  isn't  it,  Rob,  that  you  mur 
dered  him. 

ROBERT.     Trudie!     What  do  you  mean? 

GERTRUDE.     Ask  Kate! 

KATHERINE.     Gertrude ! 

ROBERT.     You  talked? 

LYDIA.  You  shan't  blame  Kate.  She  found  my  boy. 
She  brought  him  home. 

ROBERT.     You  talked,  Kate? 


02  Moloch 

GERTRUDE.  In  her  sleep.  I  know  what  you  did  to 
him.  I'm  glad  you've  come  here.  At  every  turn  of  the 
stair  —  in  every  room  of  this  house  that  was  home  to 
him  —  you'll  see  Phil  now,  as  I  see  him,  all  the  days  of 
your  life. 

ROBERT.  Kate !  In  your  sleep  —  you  remembered 
like  that? 

KATHERINE.     I  can't  forget.     I  can't  forget. 

ROBERT.     I'd  been  drinking. 

KATHERINE.     Don't!     Don't!     I  know. 

ROBERT.  You  don't  understand.  You've  got  to  un 
derstand.  In  the  trenches  that  winter,  with  the  dirty 
water  at  our  knees.  Days  on  end,  weeks  on  end,  months 
on  end.  Always  cold.  Always  wet.  Vermin  crawling 
over  us.  Dogs'  food  that  we  snatched  like  dogs.  And 
all  the  time  the  guns  were  pounding,  pounding,  pounding, 
and  we  shouted  to  be  heard,  and  our  ear-drums  were 
cracking.  We  turned  up  the  filth  and  slime  to  bury  our 
dead,  and  we  came  on  the  rotting  dead  they'd  laid 
there  — 

KATHERINE.     Don't!     Don't! 

ROBERT.  Well,  I  got  to  depending  on  the  stuff.  It 
deadened  things.  But  I  never  went  drunk  to  bed  till  the 
night  I  got  your  letter  —  the  letter  about  Roland. 

KATHERINE.  I'm  not  blaming  you.  [Sinking  on 
chair,  at  the  right  of  the  table].  God  help  us  all! 

ROBERT.  Can't  you  understand,  Trudie?  I  was  half 
drunk  that  night  when  Phil —  No!  I  don't  mean 
that.  All  that  I  did  was  right. 

GERTRUDE.     Your  friend!     He  was  your  friend! 

ROBERT.  I  don't  carry  my  friendships  onto  the  firing 
line.  He  was  nothing  to  me,  that  chap.  I  was  ready  to 
make  him  talk.  At  any  cost.  Yes.  [Gertrude,  with  a 
strangled  cry,  goes  into  the  bow-window.]  But  I  didn't 
do  it  for  fun,  Kate.  [Goes  to  the  table.]  To  save  my 
own  chaps  from  getting  pounded  to  pieces.  I  was  right. 


Moloch  93 

He's  got  no  business  coming  into  my  dreams.  I  was 
right.  I'll  say  that  to  you,  Kate,  just  as  I'll  say  it  to 
Almighty  God. 

KATHERINE.  Oh,  the  long  way  you've  come,  since 
you  stood  together,  you  three  big,  kind  men  we  were  so 
proud  of,  here  in  this  very  room,  fussing  over  a  little 
hurt  beast.  The  Woodsy  Boy  came  through  that  door. 
The  boy  you  — 

ROBERT  [sitting  down  opposite  her~\.  The  conscript 
you  saw  me  shoot?  That  was  mutiny  in  the  ranks.  I 
was  right,  under  the  rules  of  war. 

KATHERINE.  Only  two  years  ago  that  was,  only  two 
years.  It  was  the  day  that  Roland —  Don't  you  re 
member?  He  asked  me  about  the  picture  of  Moloch. 

[Very  faint,  but  continuously  swelling  louder,  is  heard 
outside  at  the  right  the  music  of  the  March-out,  heard 
in  Act  I.] 

GERTRUDE.     What's  that? 

LYDIA.     It  can't  be  the  March-out  that  I  hear ! 

[Thomas,  wildly  excited,  darts  in  at  the  terrace  door.'] 

THOMAS.  O  Aunt  Katherine!  The  soldiers  are  leav 
ing  the  camp.  They'll  march  right  by  our  house. 

[Thomas  darts  out  again.'] 

LYDIA.  I  can't  live  through  it  again.  Oh,  I'm  too 
old! 

BASIL.     Why  don't  you  throw  flowers,  Trudie? 

[Gertrude,  with  a  hysteric  cry,  sinks  upon  the  floor 
in  the  bow-window.'] 

KATHERINE.     And  we  thought  the  war  was  ended. 

ROBERT.  Thought  the  war  was  over,  did  you?  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  As  long  as  men  are  men,  there'll  be  fighting. 

LYDIA.     We  can't  bear  any  more. 

KATHERINE.     We've  nothing  left  to  give. 

ROBERT.  Stop  crying!  There's  an  ocean  of  tears 
been  shed  already  —  an  ocean  of  blood.  Doesn't  make 
any  difference.  We're  fighting  still.  No  end  to  it. 


94  Moloch 

God's  a  joke.  Got  any  brandy  in  the  house,  Kate?  I'm 
dead  tired.  I'm  down  and  out.  [Rests  his  head  on  his 
arms  upon  the  table.] 

THOMAS  [running  past  the  terrace  door].  Oh,  the 
soldiers !  The  soldiers !  The  soldiers ! 

KATHERINE.     Moloch  is  hungry  still. 

BASIL.  And  I  can't  go  with  'em!  [Collapses f  sob 
bing.] 

KATHERINE.  More  of  them  —  more  of  them  —  more 
of  them ! 

ROBERT.     If  they'd  only  stop  that  damned  noise ! 

KATHERINE.     Marching  —  marching  —  marching  — 

[The  March-out  is  at  its  fortissimo.] 

CURTAIN 


THE    END 


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